In the Still of the Night
by PenPaperParadise
Summary: Post-CA:TWS. Steve meets Vera, a spirited museum curator specializing in WWII history, and they feel a spark between them. But she becomes involved in something mysterious that makes her fear that her past is coming back to haunt her. Meanwhile, Steve continues to search for Bucky, who seems to have disappeared, but is secretly searching for answers about his past life. Steve/OC
1. Serenade in Blue

In the Still of the Night

Chapter One: Serenade in Blue

Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America or any other character/name you recognize in this chapter or the chapters to come, it's all owned by Marvel.

**A/N: Hello! Welcome to my first Captain America story, In the Still of the Night. This will be a multi-chapter story, I'm not sure exactly how many chapters but I have a pretty solid outline already pre-written that is 9 pages single spaced, so anticipate many chapters to come! Fair warning: I'm not always a quick updater so please be patient.**

**Just a few housekeeping notes to be aware before you start reading the story, if you please:**

**- I'm basing this mostly on the movie-verse so things like dates and character's backstories are based on the ones from the movies, although maybe one or two things come from either the comics or my own invention. I've tried to stay as close to canon as possible, but I'm not an expert on all things Marvel so if things aren't canon then just bear with me.**

**- This story takes place after the events of The Winter Soldier, about two months since the end of the movie.**

**- Rated T for future chapters: moderate violence, swearing, and mild sexual content.**

**And, as always, reviews, favs, and follows are much appreciated! :)**

**-PenPaperParadise **

Chapter One: Serenade in Blue

He wasn't exactly sure _why_ he wanted to go back there, although he knew he couldn't ignore the constant nagging in the back of his mind that kept telling him to go back. Maybe there was something there that would help him, but he doubted that; going back to the Captain America exhibit in the Smithsonian usually reopened old wounds and every time he left the museum, he felt even lonelier than he had before. The faces and names and photographs he recognized haunted him, and at night he sometimes saw them swirling around in a hazy mist when he drifted in and out of sleep and being awake. But Steve couldn't ignore that still, small voice that called to him; and when his heart tells him something, he almost always listens to it, because it's almost always right.

So Steve somehow found himself wandering inside the red, white, and blue-adorned exhibit with pictures of his face everywhere. Steve knew by now that he had to go there incognito, wearing a hat and keeping his head low. He also visited during the busiest times - usually a Saturday afternoon - because that way he can blend into the crowd easier. Once in a while, though, a perceptive little kid (usually wearing a shirt or hat with the symbol of his shield on it) would stare at him knowingly, and Steve would just smile a little and subtly give the kid the "shush" sign. The kids always obeyed, and Steve wondered about that. Maybe kids are just smarter than adults give them credit for.

He used to visit the museum fairly often before the...well...he hadn't really thought of a _name_ for it; "The Incident" sounded a little too mysterious and dime store novel-ish, but he also didn't want to call it "That time when I almost died because my best friend who I thought was dead nearly killed me and I spent two weeks in recovery." _Well, I don't necessarily _have_ to name it,_ he realized.

Steve wandered between the roped-off mannequins wearing old uniforms and the murals of fallen Howling Commandos painted on the walls. Eventually he found himself stopped in front of the large black-and-white photograph of Bucky. He always did this. He always stood in front of the pseudo-memorial for his best friend, staring wistfully into Bucky's eyes, wishing (and maybe even praying) for the moment when Bucky would go back to being the old Bucky, no longer the Winter Soldier. The Winter Soldier who brings death and destruction and fear with him wherever he goes. Steve held on desperately to the hope - even the _ghost_ of a hope - that if Bucky became his old self again, there would be another person on this planet who would know what it felt like to be displaced in time. To be culture-shocked by his own culture. To yearn for someone to understand his point of view, his values - the values he held onto long ago and still have not been altered by this new time period.

Living with Sam as he was now, Steve mainly used his time to do two things: help rebuild SHIELD or look for Bucky. The former was, surprisingly, easier than the latter because any information on the Winter Soldier was very hard to come by. Maybe that's why the back of his mind kept telling him to come back to the museum, maybe there was something here on Bucky that he completely missed -

"That's Bucky Barnes."

Steve's depressing inner musings were interrupted by a feminine voice. He turned to his left and saw a young woman standing next to him, hugging a clipboard to her chest, smiling.

"James Buchanan Barnes, he was in the hundred and seventh. Fought right alongside Captain America himself." She paused for a second, looking at Steve. Her smile faltered a little when Steve only blankly stared at her. "I...only clarified because you were looking at his picture...with kind of a weird face...so..."

"Oh, um..." Steve was a still in his reverie a little so speech suddenly became more difficult than it should be, but he found himself a little amused by this woman. "Right. Sorry, I was just reading about..." He indicated the block of white text next to Bucky's picture.

"Right! Right. Of course," she said, clutching her clipboard closer to her, clearly somewhat embarrassed. "I just...you looked so...never mind." She started to walk away, flustered, saying, "Sorry, I didn't mean to ruin your day -"

"No, it's fine," Steve interjected, and she stopped, turning back around to look at him. "You didn't ruin my day. You made it a little more informative, actually," he added, grinning slightly.

She smiled shyly back. "Well...I'm glad. Museum curators are notorious for beating everyone over the heads with historical facts and dates and such. Looks like I'm living up to that stereotype."

"You're a curator?"

"Yep, I work here at the ol' Smithsonian," she answered, lowering her clipboard to show Steve her little I.D. badge attached to the lapel of her blue blazer. Steve noticed that her outfit was smart - a tailored business suit with a navy pencil skirt and blazer, a white dress shirt, and black heels. She gave off the air of importance, but certainly not intimidation. Her pearly white smile and lively green eyes made her look friendly and approachable. As he looked her over, Steve made the observation that she was also quite...pretty. Her hair was light brown with natural highlights that looked almost gold in the light, and was tousled with curls and rested a little past her shoulders. She was a fair height, too: not too short and not too tall. And she even had a little dimple in her right cheek when she smiled.

"I helped a lot with this exhibit," she continued, causing Steve to look back up into her eyes. "I guess that's why I'm a little eager to talk about it. I specialize in World War II history."

"Really?" _Someone who speaks my language, then,_ Steve thought jokingly in the back of his mind. "How interesting. So you learned all about Captain America and his past, I'm guessing?"

"Yes, and he's one of my favorite people in history to learn about," she said, practically beaming. "He has _such_ an interesting involvement in the war. Although, we don't know a lot about his past before the war -" _Thank God,_ Steve thought, "- but we've been finding little tidbits here and there. In fact, last week we found a piece of a document that dates back to..." She stopped suddenly, looking at Steve and then started to laugh. "I'm talking _way_ too much...aren't I?"

"Yes," said Steve honestly, "but I like hearing what you've got to say."

She looked at the floor, blushing faintly. She looked back up at him and then gave him a strange look. "You know...you look kind of familiar," she observed.

_And, there it is._ "Yeah, I actually get that a lot," Steve chuckled. "People say I look like him all the time."

"Captain America?"

"Captain America."

"Well..." her eyes followed him up and down. "There is a resemblance...But, then again, when you spend weeks and weeks at a time poring over one person's life then I guess everybody starts to look like that person."

"I guess so," he said, smiling. She looked into his eyes. Her green eyes really were pretty. Heck, one might even go so far as to say that they're beautiful...

After a few moments of them just staring at each other, the woman caught herself and looked down, embarrassed yet again. "I...I should be going. I have exhibits to look at, you know how it is. Well, I mean, you _don't_ know how it is, you're not a curator, but, um..."

"Steve." He grinned when she looked at him curiously. "My name is Steve."

"Oh!" she exclaimed softly. "I'm Vera."

"Vera," Steve repeated as they shook hands. _Pretty name_, he thought. "I'm sure I'll meet you again soon."

"Are you?" she asked, jokingly but also a little seriously. "Because curators don't leave the museum much..."

"Then I'll just have to come back again to the museum, won't I?"

Vera smiled again - softly, genuinely. "I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

"Another eventful day for Captain Rogers?"

Steve smirked as he threw his keys onto the side table by the door. Sam was never going to stop being a pain in his ass. "You might say that."

"Yeah?" Sam, who was standing at the stove and frying eggs – pretty much the only thing he knew how to not burn - looked over at Steve. "Usually when you get back from the museum you don't say a word to me."

"Yeah, well..." Steve rubbed the back of his neck. Sam was staring at him with a sly little grin, knowing something's up, and suddenly Steve didn't really feel like getting made fun of by Sam. So he had to hide his smile when he thought of Vera. "It was...just a good day, I guess."

Sam turned back to the stove, though Steve had the feeling the shit-eating grin hadn't left his face.

"Mmm-hm."

"I'm serious, Sam."

"Mmm-hm."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Sam. Nothing happened, okay? I went to the museum...and...then I left..."

Sam was clearly trying hard to stifle his grin. "And you didn't...meet anyone there or anything?"

"Why -" Steve paused. "Why would you say that?"

"Oh, I don't know. You just seem...different, is all."

"Different how?"

Sam looked over at him.

"...Happy."


	2. Shh, It's a Military Secret

In the Still of the Night

Chapter Two: Shh, It's a Military Secret

**A/N: And here's chapter two! Thanks to everyone who read chapter one, hopefully it caught your interest and you'll keep going with this story. I won't be writing author's notes for every single chapter, but for this chapter I just wanted to mention that I will definitely be incorporating other characters from the Captain America movie-verse, and maybe even from The Avengers (hint hint). Also, don't be shy about reviewing! I will always accept positive AND negative feedback! :)**

**-PenPaperParadise**

**P.S. In the future, any updates, notes, or links for this story will be on my profile.**

Chapter Two: Shh, It's a Military Secret

It was almost _too_ easy. There were two ground soldiers guarding the door, several marksman hiding on the rooftops, and Natasha knew there had to be a hit-man or two hiding in the shadows down below in the alley. She just had to go down to the street level, take out any masked man that comes at her, and break into the room that the soldiers were guarding. This kind of mission was kid's stuff, far below her caliber. Why she was still assigned stuff like this, she didn't know. And it was getting tedious.

Natasha soundlessly started climbing down the fire escape, ready to jump down to the ground, when she heard the groaning of metal above her. Her head snapped up and she saw one of the masked men pushing the metal ladder, and she felt herself falling. Like a cat she managed to twist around and land on her feet, crouching to the ground like she was a runner awaiting a race. All around her, the masked men closed in on her and she put her mind on the back burner as she let her body take over. She took each man out one by one merely through muscle memory. A sharp hit here, a roundhouse kick there...it was all just a pattern at this point. Predictable. Boring, frankly.

But then someone quite large jumped on her from behind, bringing them both down to the ground. Natasha felt a sharp pain in her side as she fell, her body twisting awkwardly as she went down. The man had her around the neck, holding her down on top of him. She squirmed to get free but couldn't break loose. _Okay, me not being able to break free of someone's grip doesn't happen very often,_ she thought warily. Using all her strength she pulled the man's grip off of her neck and somersaulted away from him. The pain in her side increased exponentially, but she just gritted her teeth and ignored it.

Fighting off the rest of the men became a lot harder with the pain in her side, but Natasha managed to bring them all down in seconds. She went over to the door that the guards (who were now on the ground) had been protecting and kicked it down. Once inside the small dark room, she walked straight to the little pedestal in the center of the room. There was a little red button resting atop the pedestal and Natasha pushed it. Nothing happened. "Oh come on," she muttered, pressing the button multiple times and becoming irritated. "Work!" she screamed at it, pulling her gun out, ready to blast it to oblivion.

"_I saw that, Romanoff_."

Natasha groaned as the button finally worked. The bright lights on the ceiling flickered to life, illuminating the fake city street that made up the training room. The groaning men on the floor rose up one by one and limped over to the awaiting medic over by the façade of the empty diner. Natasha looked up to the see-through booth that sat stories above the fake buildings and saw Coulson staring down at her, holding the intercom. She made a face at him but said nothing. She put her gun back in her belt (gently, as her side was still hurting) and left the training room, sauntering past the medic, who gave her a pointed look. As she walked down the hallway of the SHIELD headquarters, sure enough, Coulson caught up to her.

"Nice work out there, Agent," said Coulson as he fast-walked to keep up with Natasha's quick stride, "although for a moment there I wasn't quite sure you'd make it out alive."

"Well, it wouldn't have been much of a _show_ if you hadn't had a moment of doubt, now, would it, Director Coulson?" Natasha replied coolly.

"I suppose not," he said with a grin.

He kept walking with her, prompting Natasha to ask, "Is there a particular reason that the Almighty Director decided to watch my meager little training session?"

"A mission," Coulson said simply. "This time, not a training mission. If you're up for it. It's nothing too difficult, I think."

"You lost me there, Director," Natasha replied. "I never take easy missions."

"Who said anything about easy? I just said it wasn't difficult."

Natasha paused. Well, it would break the monotony of training missions, wouldn't it? The pain in her side ached dully and Natasha absentmindedly rubbed it a little. "Oh why not? I could use a little break from doing...well, nothing."

"Alright," Coulson said happily. He handed over a file with the SHIELD logo stamped on it. "If you have any questions...you know what to do."

"Call you in the middle of the night?"

Coulson smiled at her. "Answer them yourself."

He walked away. Natasha rolled her eyes at him as she stood in the hallway and watched him leave. The pain in her side was starting to subside but that did not stop her from continuing to absentmindedly rub it. The ache made her worried – not worried that she had broken ribs or anything, but worried that she was losing her touch. That man – one man – had nearly brought her down, and she couldn't break free from a simple grip? Maybe it was a good thing that she took this mission...Natasha needed to rethink some things.

* * *

The mission, it transpired, wasn't really a mission at all - it was just a computer breach that needed to be investigated. According to the file, an unknown entity had tried to hack into the archival records of SHIELD using a fake identity and password. _More kid's stuff_, Natasha sighed.

Natasha sat in an empty conference room in the SHIELD base with her laptop on the polished oak table in front of her, the file resting beside the laptop's right side and a large mug of coffee on its left. As she looked into the breach more, however, she realized that the hacker was pretty good at what they did. He or she managed to cover their tracks pretty well; Natasha couldn't even get the location of the computer from which the hacker tried to access the archive records. _They may be good_, Natasha thought, _but I'm better_.

Fingers flying over the keys, Natasha tried accessing all kinds of data regarding the attempted cyber break-in. Still no identity or location, but she did manage to see what kind of file the hacker was trying to access. It was a protected file that required a password. _That's strange_, Natasha thought, _wouldn't a hacker of this caliber be able to get past a file that only needed a password?_ Natasha tried accessing the file but the network wouldn't let her through. She tried all sorts of keystrokes and tricks to get past it, but nothing worked. It was then that she realized the file required not just any password, but a high clearance level password. A _Level 10_ password, as a matter of fact. And the only people who had that kind of clearance, as far as she knew, was the Director of SHIELD himself.

Something wasn't quite right. If the Director of SHIELD was the only person who could access the file, then why didn't Coulson know about it? Why didn't he just type in his high-level password and see what the hackers were trying to gain access to? Natasha worked out that there were only a few explanations: Coulson could have known about the high-level restricted file and was trying to get Natasha to see something he didn't...or he was completely ignorant about the file which makes things even more mysterious because the Director is supposed to know practically everything about SHIELD...or Coulson knew about the file, maybe even created it, knew Natasha would try to access it, and was testing her to see if she could figure things out...

Natasha shook her head. _Too many theories_, she thought. _Perhaps I should find out more about this before I go crazy and suspect Coulson of being the new head of HYDRA or something_. She pondered that for a moment. _...No._

She turned back to her laptop, searching the history of the file. "Huh," she said out loud when she read the creation date of the file: it dated back to the 1940s. That scratches out the "Coulson created the file and is testing her" theory: it was created before Coulson was even born. So that means the file goes back decades...Natasha didn't even know who the Director was back then. Did it have something to do with Fury, maybe? He _was_ the last Director, and he was Director for a long damn time. Did Fury even _know_ about the file? And if he did, why would someone else try to hack into it now that Fury was dead? (_Well... "dead",_ she corrected herself.) Or was the _reason_ they were trying to hack into it was that Fury was "dead" now? The questions kept swimming around in Natasha's brain and she had to close her eyes for a second and rethink things.

_Okay...There's something strange regarding this file and I have to find out what it is_. _Me only and me. I don't want to trust anyone else to hold onto this kind of information._

She reached over and grabbed her cell phone, dialing a number. It rang once before Coulson picked up and spoke before she could.

"Agent Romanoff. Did you find anything out?"

"I did," Natasha answered. "The person who attempted to breach the system was trying to access a -" she paused, briefly, "protected file." She had to stop herself just then from saying "_high-level_ protected file." Something in her gut was telling her that maybe she should look into things a little more before she let the Director know _everything_ about the file. "I haven't figure out who or what or why yet, so I need a bit more time."

"Take as much time as you need," said Coulson, a hint of urgency in his voice. _It's obvious he wants this case to be solved, and fast_, said a voice in the back of Natasha's mind.

"I'll let you know if I find anything."

She hung up. Okay, so she didn't really _lie_ to Coulson - she just left out a few details about the information she acquired. _Yeah but if Coulson finds out you're hiding information, you're going to have your ass handed to you. By him. Personally._ As much as Coulson was a good man, Natasha knew he was someone she didn't want to mess with.

Her brain was starting to hurt. She reached over to her coffee mug and put it to her lips - it was empty. She groaned, stretched, and stood up. _If I'm expected to solve a mission that goes up as high as the Director of SHIELD_, she thought, _I'm gonna need another cup of coffee._


	3. It's Been a Long, Long Time

In the Still of the Night

Chapter 3: It's Been a Long, Long Time

Steve didn't go back to the Smithsonian the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after _that_. In fact, he realized that it had been nearly a week since he had last gone to the museum. He _had_ been busy actually - he had left the state to track down a possible lead on the Winter Soldier in Connecticut, but after days of searching it turned into a wild goose chase. He kept telling himself that him being busy was why he put off going to the museum. It wasn't that he was afraid to go back and talk to Vera...No of course not...He kept telling himself it was because he was busy...

It was Sam who eventually brought him back to reason.

"Been to the museum lately?" Sam had asked Steve one day, the ghost of a sly grin on his face. Steve was sitting on the couch typing away at his laptop as Sam cooked breakfast in the kitchen.

"Uh...not really," replied Steve, not even looking away from the screen of his laptop. Sam had been doggedly asking him about what happened at the museum that day and Steve wouldn't tell him. If Sam was going to play games with him, he'd play them right back. He'd play innocent, since Sam didn't know about Vera. And frankly, he didn't want Sam to know right now and risk never hearing the end of it until he asked Vera out or something. Steve wanted to take things at his own pace. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know," Sam returned, playing along. "Just curious."

"Mm-hmm."

"You just...seemed to really _enjoy_ your last visit."

"Really."

"Oh come on, Steve," said Sam, exasperated. Steve glanced up at him. "Look, something's up with you and I don't know exactly what it is - although I have my suspicions," he added with a wink, making Steve roll his eyes.

"Sam -"

"Just don't intentionally screw yourself over, okay?" Sam implored.

Steve blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, don't ruin something for yourself that could make you happy. I've seen how distracted you've been this past week. You're worried about something. Maybe you're afraid to go back there, I don't know." Steve averted Sam's eyes. "But whatever it is you're worried about or afraid of, don't be. The best things in life won't be handed to you on a silver platter."

It sounded so simple when it came from Sam. He had a way of wording things that just made sense. Steve sighed.

"Maybe you're right..."

"Of course I'm right," said Sam. "I'm always right."

Steve threw a couch pillow at him.

* * *

It was one of those days that felt like it was going to be a long day, and Vera knew this because the past several days had been like this, too. Piles of paperwork, phone constantly ringing, hardly a moment's break for nearly a week now. But between all of that busy work, Vera kept waiting...and hoping...for when Steve would come back again.

Sure, she had only met him once and hardly knew the guy, but she couldn't deny that she felt something between them...And he had said he'd visit again. Okay, Vera thought he meant in a few days...not a _week_. Was he even coming back at all? Maybe he was one of those guys that was just flirting with her because he flirts with every girl. And she was stupid and naïve enough to believe that he had meant it when he said he would come back.

And yet...he hadn't _seemed_ like one of those guys. He had seemed legitimately nice and interested in what he had to say. He had been a little weird at first, but she had kind of barged into his moment of deep thought when she bombarded him with all those facts about Captain America...

Vera groaned and rubbed her eyes, resting her elbows on her desk in her small office. She felt like an idiot looking back on that day; why did she have to just butt in to his personal moment like that? Was she that desperate to meet someone? But then again...it _did_ lead to her actually _meeting_ someone...Someone who was kind, honest, and, dare she say it, pretty damn good-looking. Maybe she shouldn't give up hope just yet...

"Miss Rochester?"

Vera straightened up, pretending she hadn't just been slumped over in a self-pitied stupor. She sighed. "I keep telling you, Michael, you don't have to keep calling me 'Miss Rochester.' Just because you're an intern doesn't mean you have to call _everyone_ 'miss' or 'mister.'"

"Sorry," the young intern said meekly.

"It's alright," Vera said with a genuine smile to show the poor intern she wasn't mad at him. "So what did you need me for?"

"Oh! Right," said Michael, shuffling through the papers in the clipboard he was holding. "There's someone in the main atrium who was asking for you...uh..." He held up a little piece of paper with a scribbled note on it. "Steve something?"

"Steve?" Vera jumped up suddenly - a little more enthusiastically than she had planned - and hastily said, "Thanks, Michael. I'll see you later!"

She tried hard not to run to the atrium, but fast-walked gracefully as she passed by her coworkers and other people that knew her.

Once she got to the main atrium, she scanned her eyes across the Saturday afternoon crowd to find Steve. She almost missed him but eventually saw him standing in the midst of the crowd, wearing the same baseball cap he wore last time. This time, however, he wasn't wearing a t-shirt and cargo pants but a red plaid shirt and dark blue jeans. _He's pretty good at blending in,_ she observed. Vera approached him and Steve flashed her a guilty little smile when he saw her.

"Hey," he said shyly.

"Hey," she responded.

There was a moment of awkward silence when Vera waited for Steve to say something and Steve waited for Vera to say something.

"So...um...how are you?" Steve finally asked. Vera couldn't help but be a little miffed when he asked that. _You've been MIA for a week and all you can say is 'how are you?'_

"I'm alright," said Vera, masking her disappointment. "I trust you've been well too?"

Her tone was a little more accusatory than she had intended, but Steve merely smiled back.

"Not really. I've been busy."

"Me too," Vera replied coolly, raising her eyebrows.

"My line of work tends to make me...go away for a while sometimes," Steve explained mysteriously.

"And your line of work would be...?"

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

Vera laughed. She had forgotten just how very _blue_ Steve's eyes were. "Fair enough."

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner," Steve said, abandoning all pretense. "I know it's no excuse to say I was busy, but -"

"It's alright," assured Vera. "Really. I understand, people get busy."

"Truly?"

Vera nodded. "Truly."

Steve flashed her a knee-weakening smile. Despite her annoyance with him, Vera really had missed him. But wait - wasn't this only the _second time_ they were meeting? _I barely even know the guy and I missed him? _she realized._ I feel like I've known him for weeks...Maybe I really am desperate._

"Miss Roch - I mean, Vera?"

The intern appeared suddenly and approached the pair. Vera sighed. "Yes, what is it, Michael?"

"Um, Mr. Gray wants to know if you turned in the prospective recommendations for the exhibit expansion?"

"Oh, right, I forgot about that..." Vera mumbled, and then glanced over at Steve out of the corner of her eye. "Um...just let him know that I'll send it over as soon as I can, okay, Michael?"

"Alright," said Michael, scribbling away at his clipboard and leaving without another word.

Vera turned back to Steve. "I'm so sorry, Steve," she said, disappointed, "but it looks like I'm going to have to..."

"I understand," Steve said. A twinkle came to his eye. "You're busy."

Vera couldn't help but grin at that.

"I'll come back soon," Steve said. Vera gave him a look and he added, "I _promise_ it won't be a week from now."

"It'll just be six days from now then, instead of seven?" Vera asked and Steve laughed. "Look, why don't you come back at a time when I'm not swamped with work? Come by the museum right as it's closing, I'll be free by then."

"Sounds good," Steve said happily.

"And if I'm feeling generous that day, I might even give you a tour after hours," she offered, smiling.

"After hours?" asked Steve slowly, reddening a bit.

Vera was confused for a moment, then laughed nervously. "I-I didn't mean _that_ kind of 'after hours.' I meant I can show you some artifacts and things we keep away from the public eye. You know, the perks of knowing someone who works for a museum?"

"Ah," said Steve, rubbing the back of his neck. "Good."

"Here, um..." Vera reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled receipt. She pulled a pen from the pocket on her blazer and wrote a series of numbers on the paper, handing it to Steve. "Here's my number. Text me yours, and then I'll text you what time I get off work, okay?"

"Okay," Steve said, taking the paper and looking at it with an almost triumphant look on his face.

"Well...I really should be going," said Vera, feeling within her a sad longing to keep talking to him. "See you soon, okay?"

"Okay," Steve replied, and Vera started to walk away but Steve stopped her by saying, "Wait! You didn't say which day I should swing by 'after hours.'"

Vera grinned, staring into those blue eyes. "Surprise me."

She walked away confidently and gracefully, while inside she was jumping up and down and dancing with excitement.


	4. I'll Be Seeing You

In the Still of the Night

Chapter Four: I'll Be Seeing You

Right after she left Steve in the main atrium of the museum, Vera headed back to her office to hand in that file she was supposed to give to her boss. _Back to the old grind, I suppose,_ she thought, but her mind couldn't help but keep drifting back to Steve and the conversation they had just had. He was going to come back...soon this time, hopefully...And Vera was excited about seeing him again. It was about time for her to start going out again, after what had happened with...

_No_, she told herself firmly, _I'm not going to think about that now. It's time for me to move on_.

So she plowed through the rest of her day with much more confidence and optimism than she had at the start of the day, her mind occasionally drifting off and imagining what will happen when she sees Steve again. By the end of the day she was a little tired, and found herself sitting at her desk yet again poring over a yellowing document that dated back to World War II. She yawned, thinking about her soft, warm bed, wishing for the day to be over so that she could be another day closer to seeing Steve again...

"Um...Miss- Vera?"

Was the intern _ever_ going to give her a moment's peace?

"What is it, Michael?" she asked, dipping her head forward and rubbing her temples.

"It's just...well..."

Vera looked up from her desk. Michael was standing in the doorway, looking a little frazzled. He had no clipboard in his hand, his dark hair was unkempt, and he had a distracted look in his eye. _That's odd_, Vera thought. _Usually he's a little more put-together than he is now..._

"Um...I was assigned by Mrs. Greer - I-I mean, Alice - to find a historical record for her using the computer archives, and I, um, found something."

Vera was a little confused. "Found something?"

"Yes, um...I think...I think someone tried hacking the archives."

Vera blinked. "Wait...someone tried _hacking_ the archives? The Smithsonian archives?" she asked incredulously.

"I think so, but I'm not sure," said Michael nervously, playing with his shirt sleeve.

"Did you tell Alice about this?"

Michael gave a nervous sideways glance. "Well...no. I thought you should know about this first since archives are your main department, pretty much."

"Yeah...I guess that was the right call," she reasoned. She realized this could just be nothing, probably a mistake that Michael made and he was overreacting about it. But she might as well be absolutely sure that there's no issue before she assumed everything was fine. "Alright, take me down to the archives and show me what you found."

"Okay."

Michael led her downstairs to the archive computer lab, which at this hour was nearly empty, thankfully. Vera had a feeling that the less people knew about this alleged hacker, the better. Michael guided her over to the main archival computer and sat her down in front of it. He leaned over the keyboard and started typing a few things, bringing up some files and documents, and then settled on one, unnamed file.

"I stumbled upon this file because I was searching for files in the archives that were recently accessed," Michael explained. "This one came up and I didn't know what it was since it's unnamed, so I clicked on it and all that came up was this."

He tried opening the file and a dialog box popped up, demanding a password.

"I tried using my staff password but it wouldn't go through," continued Michael. "I thought that was odd, so I started looking into its properties..."

He brought up another dialog box, this one displaying the properties of the file.

"It was accessed within the past twenty-four hours. By someone with a valid staff ID and password."

"Wait," interjected Vera, "so someone who works here at the Smithsonian accessed it?"

"That's what I thought, and I didn't think that was suspicious at first, but I looked at who that staff person was. Dennis Crichton."

"Dennis Crichton..." Vera repeated under her breath. "Don't think I've heard of him."

"That's because he _doesn't exist_."

Michael brought up a search box for museum staff and searched the name. It came up with no results.

"But..." stammered Vera, staring at the search results (or lack thereof). She tore her eyes away from the screen to look at Michael. "If...If this person didn't exist then how is their ID and password valid?"

"They must be good at tricking the system," Michael said. "That's my guess. But there's no reason for a staff member to create a fake username and password unless they're trying to access information that's beyond their department."

"Or they don't work for us," Vera added softly, and Michael nodded.

"So you agree there's something fishy about this?" implored Michael.

"Yeah, I really do," said Vera carefully as she looked at the information on the screen. "Don't worry Michael, you did the right thing by coming to me."

Michael breathed a sigh of relief. "Good, because I was afraid I was just overreacting."

_That's what I thought at first too_, thought Vera, _and I wish I was wrong._

"Michael...I think it would be best if we kept this under wraps," said Vera quietly, looking around at the few other staff members who were working at the other computers. "Now I'm no expert on computer stuff like this so I don't know what more I can do here, but if you find anything else out - _anything_ - let me know, okay?"

"Okay," agreed Michael. "Don't worry, I'll keep it between us."

"Good," said Vera, glad she could trust Michael. "Do you think you could look into this a little more? I mean tomorrow, of course. It's nearly closing."

"Yeah sure," Michael said confidently. "I was going to look into it more anyway but I wanted to get another person's opinion before I continued investigating it."

_Investigating...It sounds like we're a couple of detectives,_ Vera thought dryly to herself. "Okay good. But do _not_ let this interfere with your intern duties, alright? If your performance starts to slip then your superiors are going to start asking questions, mostly questions directed toward me since you're in my department..."

"I won't let it be a promise," said Michael hastily. "I promise."

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow morning then." Vera stood up and started heading to the door, but another question was bugging her. She went back over to Michael and softly asked, "By the way, do you have any idea what that protected file was? Or where it came from?"

Michael shook his head. "All I know is that it comes from somewhere within the Smithsonian archives. I'll look into that more, too."

Vera exhaled, internally wishing this whole thing wasn't shrouded in secrecy. "Alright. Thanks, Michael."

As she left the computer room, Vera had a million more questions in her mind that she knew neither she nor Michael would be able to answer. But her mind kept asking them anyway. Why would someone try to hack into a museum's archives? Vera could understand someone hacking into their bank accounts or financial records, but why the historical archives? And who was the person that did this? Were they by themselves, or did they work for some organization? Was it a rival museum, maybe? Or a government agency? With each step she took home, Vera had a distinct feeling in the pit of her stomach that this wasn't going to be some little issue that will be solved in a day or two. Something about this situation didn't sit well with her and she hoped they would get it all figured out soon.

* * *

Natasha had no idea what time of night it was, but she knew that she was close to finding out the identity of the person who had hacked the SHIELD archives. _This must be what Stark feels like when he's working on a new project_, she thought bitterly as she downed yet another mug of coffee, blinking profusely to keep her eyes focused on the dim screen.

Since calling Coulson earlier that day, she had found out pretty much only one thing: that this hacker was good at what they did. They made it practically impossible for them to be traced, but the "practically" part of that statement was where Natasha came in. After many hours of trying to get information about the hacker, Natasha _finally_ accessed some important information about the hacker: their location.

"Let's see where you work your magic," Natasha mumbled to herself as she brought up the data. It was an American address (_Thank God_, Natasha thought, _someone local for once_) and Natasha saw that the city listed was Washington, D.C. And when she looked up the address, it wasn't some home or business: it was a museum. The Smithsonian Museum, as a matter of fact. _How_ _interesting._

Natasha reclined back in her chair. _Well,_ she thought as she memorized the address and then closed her laptop, _looks like I'm going to be paying the good ol' Capitol of America another visit_.


	5. Green Eyes

In the Still of the Night

**A/N: Long chapter alert! (But don't expect this for every chapter...Unless a miracle happens...hehe.) Thanks to all those who have read, followed, favorited, and reviewed this story. I can't believe how many views this story has gotten in such a short amount of time, you guys are awesome! Also, I added a few links to my profile related to this story so go check out my profile if you so desire. :)**

**-PenPaperParadise**

Chapter Five: Green Eyes

Steve went back to the museum the next day. He didn't care if this made him appear desperate or needy or something; he really wanted to get to know Vera better, and he thought it was high time that he stopped mourning his barely-there relationship with Peggy and move on with his life. He missed her a lot, but frankly Steve was getting tired of it. Sure, he saw her once in a while when he visited her in London, but that wasn't the Peggy he knew. She had lived her own life, had her own family...Visiting her was almost like an eerie window into an alternate life, a life that Steve maybe could have lived with her if he hadn't crashed that plane. It was too disheartening to constantly be reminded of that every time he visited her. And besides, half the time when Steve visits she forgets who he is and it's hard for Steve to accept that this was the person Peggy became now.

Vera seemed like a nice enough girl, though. She had spirit and was a little quirky, but in a good way. Steve couldn't help but point out that she was pretty, too, and had an air of grace around her (despite the fact that she can get cutely flustered fairly easily). He didn't want to count his chickens before they hatched, but maybe this girl could be someone he could go a long way with...or even all the way...

Steve pushed that out of his mind as he jogged up the museum's front steps. _I'm not going to get my hopes up yet_, he told himself._ I hardly even know her. At least, I don't know her yet_. He smiled to himself as he went inside the emptying museum. He had texted Vera earlier and she had told him where to meet her. So he followed the directions which led him past a few of the exhibits and finally right in front of a large door that had an "Employees Only" sign posted on it. Steve looked around. Vera wasn't there. He checked his phone to see if he got the right directions when he suddenly heard the rapid clacking of heels coming toward him. He looked up and saw Vera jogging toward him, then slowing when she saw him watching her. She grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry I'm a little late," she said breathlessly as she came over to him. "My intern has trouble solving problems by himself sometimes..."

"It's alright," assured Steve. "Just as long as you're not seven days late."

Vera grinned at that comment. "Alright, well, do you want to go see what it's like past the 'Employees Only' part of a museum?"

"Sure," said Steve with a smile. Steve couldn't help but observe that she looked cute today: she was wearing a pretty gray and white business suit, much like the navy one she was wearing when they had met, but this one was much more form-fitting. Her makeup was done up perfectly and her curly hair was tied up in a bouncy ponytail. _I think she was expecting me tonight_, said a hopeful voice in the back of Steve's mind.

Steve pulled out of his reverie as Vera used her keycard to open the door and show them both inside. There was a long white hallway with grey doors on each side and a few people were milling about.

"This way," said Vera, guiding them both over to the elevator. Steve raised his eyebrow questioningly as Vera pressed the button and she merely chuckled in response.

"You'll see."

They stepped inside the elevator. Vera pulled a key ring out from her pocket and turned one of the keys in a slot on the elevator's button panel, then pressed the button that had a big letter "B" on it. They rode it down a few floors and when it opened, Steve couldn't help but be quite impressed.

They were in the basement of the Smithsonian. The room was gigantic, almost like a warehouse, with a high ceiling and thousands of objects and furniture and knick knacks stretching back for miles and miles. There were big blocks of boxes and crates with antique furniture stacked around them, creating a narrow grid of pathways between them like tiny city streets. A million things caught Steve's eye – a weathered old chest, a blue and white dollhouse, a gaudy gold lamp with a red tasseled lampshade...He knew he could spend hours here and still have seen only a fraction of the thing in here.

He glanced sideways at Vera, who looked upon the enormous room like she was watching her child at graduation.

"This is my favorite place in the entire world," she breathed. "I always discover something new every time I come down here."

"I can imagine that," said Steve honestly, squinting his eyes to see how far back the artifacts stretched.

"So," said Vera as she started walking forward, indicating Steve to follow her. "What would you like to see? The stuff down here isn't completely organized but there are some parts that are devoted to certain parts of history, like the Renaissance or Cold War Russia..."

"I don't think I could choose," said Steve sincerely, wondering how in the world they managed to keep tabs on all the objects down here.

Vera chuckled. "I understand that. I think I've only seen a _percentage_ of this place, it's so massive. But let me show you the best parts."

"The best parts according to whom?"

"Me," Vera winked.

And so she led him down the grid-like pathways between the massive piles of artefacts, showing him objects here and there from the Sixth Century and Victorian New York and a myriad of other periods in history. Normally, Steve wasn't really into history – he had been more absorbed in art and drawing in school than he had the core subjects – but the way Vera enthusiastically talked about how the museum acquired each object and what they meant to her and her team, he suddenly became quite fascinated by all she described. His eyes were opened to the fact that every artefact has a story that most people don't even think about, but these stories were clearly important to Vera, and he saw that in the way her eyes lit up when she talked about history.

Then she got to the section she said she cared about the most: World War II America. Steve suddenly got nervous; he never had been nor is now comfortable talking about himself, and he was sure the subject of Captain America was bound to come up. And, sure enough, when Vera led him down a certain narrow walkway they stopped in front of a formation of huge crates with "CAPTAIN AMERICA" spray-painted on the side of each box. Vera took a crowbar that was lying next to the boxes and tried prying one of them open, but it wouldn't budge. Steve saw she was clearly struggling with it, so he wordlessly took the crowbar from her hands and easily pried open the lid. Vera looked amazed at first, then miffed.

"Well, I loosened it for you," she muttered with a grin.

Vera began pulling out objects, a lot of which Steve recognized: the map he had used to plan out the storming of the HYDRA bases, the handgun he took with him when he freed the One Hundred and Seventh division from the factory, the parachute he wore when he jumped out of the plane that Howard Stark had flown...with Peggy...The memories were crashing over him, fast. It was beginning to get a little overwhelming – remembering the things he saw, the friends he had, the life he had once led...When Vera wasn't looking, he had to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths to steady his nerves.

"Oh, look!" Vera exclaimed suddenly, pulling something out of the crate. It was something small and shiny encased in a sealed plastic bag with the Smithsonian logo on it, and Steve's heart jolted when he saw it.

"It's the compass Captain America used in the war," she explained, but there was no need to explain it; Steve knew what it was, and he knew it well. Vera took it out of the plastic bag and examined it with awe. "This one took us _decades_ to find – well, not really 'us', you know, because I wasn't there when they found it - but the Smith team found it several years ago in the hidden HYDRA facility in the Alps. That was the last known location where Captain America was seen in person."

"Really?" inquired Steve, never being one hundred percent sure how public it was that Captain America was raised from the dead. And if the historians didn't know, then ninety-nine percent of the public didn't know (the only exception being SHIELD). "So no one saw him after that?"

Vera shook her head. "He disappeared in a HYDRA plane the same day they stormed the base."

_Well, at least that's one part of my life that the common person doesn't know about_, Steve thought with a sigh.

"I think..." Vera said slowly, staring down at the compass. "I think I can get it open..."

"Um, Vera – " Steve tried cutting her off, not wanting her to see what was inside, but he was too late. Vera pried open the little compass and they both looked inside it. On one side of the hinged trinket was the compass itself, the little arrow inside it still quivering a bit, and on the other side was a small, black-and-white photograph of Peggy Carter. Steve's breath hitched in his throat.

"Agent Carter..." Vera muttered, fascinated. "Huh. How interesting."

She gave a knowing little smile as she closed up the compass and placed it back into its plastic covering. Steve had a feeling that she – and therefore probably every other historian in the world – knew that there had been something between Captain America and Peggy. _Great,_ Steve thought, feeling embarrassed. _That's just great._

"You know, Steve," Vera started to say slowly as she carefully put the compass back into the crate. "I couldn't help but notice...You really do look a _lot_ like Captain America."

_Oh boy,_ Steve thought, _here it comes_. As much as he didn't want to lie to Vera on their first date (_was_ this a date though? They hadn't really established either way if it was or wasn't so Steve was unsure...), he knew he had to keep his "professional" side and "personal" side separate to keep himself, and those that knew him, safe.

"Well, I get that a lot..." he said lamely, knowing in his heart that Vera wasn't going to believe that.

"I know you do," she replied. She was looking him over, as if she were searching for some clue to give away his true identity. "And you know what we learned recently about Captain America's former self? His name was Steve. Steve Rogers. Is Rogers your last name too?"

Steve swallowed. "Uh, yeah it is, actually," he responded, not knowing how else to respond. There are some things he will and will not lie about, and he wasn't going to lie to her about his real name. "What a...coincidence."

"I don't think it's a coincidence," Vera said strongly, taking a step toward him. "You know what I think?"

"Uh – " Steve took a step back when she came toward him – "what do you think?"

"I think...that you and Captain America are related."

"...Related?"

"Yes. I think he's your relative, a grandparent or great-uncle or something. And you know all about him but you were just pretending to not know anything about him to humor me."

Internally, Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

"Alright, you got me there," Steve said, playing along. _This was a better alternative than the truth,_ he reasoned,_ so I'm going to go with it_. "I am related to him. I just didn't tell you because no one is supposed to know the Captain's true identity."

Vera had a triumphant smile on her face. Steve knew she was thinking "_I knew it"_ but didn't want to outright say it.

"Well, that makes sense," she agreed, swallowing the bait. "I figured as much. But it's too late for that, we found records of the super-serum injections in 1942 and figured it out from there."

_Well, there goes my secret identity,_ Steve thought in a panic.

"But between you and me," said Vera, glancing to her left and right as she lowered her voice, "I've been pressuring the museum board to _not_ announce Cap's real name to the public. I kind of like the idea of Captain America being something more than just a man."

"He's a symbol," Steve said, almost automatically, and Vera nodded.

"He means more to the American people than just a man in a uniform," Vera added. "He's something beyond that, something that people can put their hopes in. And I respect him for that, so that's why I don't want the whole world knowing every little detail about him."

"I like that about you," Steve said before he could stop himself. "You know what's important and what's not."

Vera blushed at the compliment. Gosh, her cheeks became the prettiest shade of pink when she did that.

"You don't think I'm some weird history geek, then?" she asked, looking down at the floor.

"Not at all," Steve replied earnestly. She looked back up at him, staring into his eyes. "I like hearing you talk about history."

"I like having someone who listens," she admitted softly. Steve didn't know how but the space between them was getting smaller and smaller. Not that he was complaining.

"Vera..." he whispered before he could help himself. Her eyes didn't even look _human_, they were so green.

"Yes?" she breathed. Steve could practically count each individual eyelash that lined her gorgeous green eyes.

"I..." He didn't even know what he wanted to say. Something in the back of his mind was telling him to stop, that things were going too fast...but his heart was telling him that he had a connection to this woman and he didn't want to lose it. He was leaning in...His heart was pounding into next week...Closer and closer...

Someone nearby cleared their throat. Steve and Vera both jumped apart and Vera groaned.

"What _is it_, Michael?" she nearly yelled in frustration. Steve recognized the intern as the person who had interrupted them yesterday. _I sincerely hope this doesn't become a pattern_, Steve thought.

"I'm really sorry, Miss Rochester," said Michael meekly. "I just...I found something that might have to do with the, um..." He sideways glanced at Steve. "The..._computer_ _problems_ we were having yesterday."

Steve looked over at Vera and saw something flicker behind her eyes.

"Oh..." she said. She pursed her lips, indicating she was turning something over and over in her mind. "I...Alright, Michael, I'll be right up. I'll meet you in the archives in a few minutes, okay?"

"Okay," Michael said hastily, and then scurried off quickly out of sight, clearly embarrassed about the situation in which he had caught them.

Vera sighed heavily. "Steve..."

"It's alright, Vera. Really."

"I'm still sorry, though," she admitted. "If it were anything less than this I wouldn't leave you."

Vera's eyes grew wide as she picked up on what she had just said and how it must have sounded to Steve, but Steve only smiled.

"Don't be sorry, Vera. It's fine."

Vera grinned shyly. "Truly?"

Steve grinned back. "Truly. And hey, is everything alright? That intern, Michael, said something about computer problems...?"

"Oh, that," said Vera, sighing. "It's nothing, really. Probably just a glitch or a virus or something. But I need to get it squared away as soon as possible before my boss finds out and I get blamed for it somehow."

Steve frowned. "Well, I hope it all works out for you. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

Vera smiled in return. "You're sweet. But I'm pretty sure me and Michael can handle this on our own."

_I kind of doubt that_, Steve thought, thinking about how incompetent the intern seemed. _But Vera's a smart girl, she can figure things out._

"Alright," said Steve. "I guess we should start heading back now?"

"I guess," Vera said reluctantly. She led him through the winding aisles of artefacts and back to the elevator. As they rode it up, Steve thought of something.

"Hey," he said suddenly, "are you free on Friday night? I, uh, I know of this great place not too far from here where we can, you know, get dinner or something. If you're free, that is. If not, I get it." _Wow, Steve, ninety-six years old and you still can barely string the words together to ask a girl out?_

Vera blushed again – Steve was beginning to like it when she did that – and smiled. "I'm pretty sure I'm free then, yes. I get off work around six, pick me up at seven? I'll text you my address."

"Okay," confirmed Steve, and his heart soared.

Once the elevator reached their desired floor, they stepped out together and Vera led him to the back entrance. Before he left, Steve turned back to look at her.

"I had fun," Steve said honestly. Vera smiled honestly back.

"I did too," she said.

_Oh God, do I kiss her?_ Steve thought suddenly. _I mean was this even a real date? We never established that...Should I just do it? Or risk leaving her hanging?_

In that moment, Steve decided to compromise. He reached down and grasped her hand lightly, bringing it up to his lips and kissing it tenderly. Vera blushed, hard, but her green eyes sparkled. _I guess that was the right decision_, he thought happily.

"Good night," he told her, almost sad that he had to leave.

"Good night," she whispered back.

Steve reluctantly turned and left, jogging down the stairs to the parking lot, and thinking with a smile, _What have I just gotten myself into?_

* * *

"So...let me get this straight, Michael," said Vera slowly, tearing her eyes away from the computer monitor to look at the nervous intern. "You're telling me that the reason no one can access this protected file is because it came from somewhere _outside_ of the museum? And it came from an organization called..." she turned back to the monitor, "SHIELD?"

"That's right," Michael confirmed. "I figured out the source of the file and this is what I found. I've never even heard of SHIELD, have you?"

Vera shook her head. "No."

They both sat in silence for a moment, pondering the situation. Vera then sat up in her chair and said, "Well, for all we know this 'SHIELD' could be a fake organization or something. As long as our records haven't actually been breached, I don't think this will be a problem anymore. Maybe we should just file this whole thing away. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes..." Michael agreed slowly. "But shouldn't we put this on record? Or tell Ms. Greer – I mean, Alice – about this?"

"No," Vera said firmly. "If we do that then the Smith will have to pour a lot of money into investigating this when the only thing they'll find out is that it leads to a dead end."

"Alright," Michael conceded. "I'll do that right now. You should go home, Miss Rochester."

"I will," said Vera, too tired to correct him about her name.

She left the archives after she bade Michael goodbye, and as soon as she closed the door behind her she had to grip the wall to keep from crumpling to the ground. _Oh my God_, she thought wildly. _How can the file come from SHIELD? What does the Smithsonian have to do with SHIELD? I've never had to deal with them since coming here to the museum! I thought I was done with them..._

In a panic, she thought, _Is my past coming back to haunt me?_

_What have I just gotten myself into?_


	6. Dig Down Deep

In the Still of the Night

Chapter Six: Dig Down Deep

If there was anything that HYDRA never taught him as the Winter Soldier but they should have, it was how to use technology. Sure, he could take apart a weapon and put it back together in a matter of seconds; but trying to figure out how to bring up the internet? There were some things you can't learn as a highly-trained assassin, and computers was one of them.

The Soldier was sitting in the abandoned apartment he had scoped out a few weeks ago, and after his approval it was now serving as his hideaway. There was a pile of blankets in the corner that made up his bed – which he was content with, because mattresses were too much like sleeping on a marshmallow for him – and the rest of the creaky wooden floor was littered with a variety of used-up food containers and empty cans and bottles. He sat at a small desk on a wobbly chair, hunched over a laptop, his eyes squinting in the dim light of the room. He had stolen the laptop that day from an unsuspecting teenager in a café (which explained why there were little flower decals all over it) but after tinkering with it a bit he found it worked just fine.

After a few minutes of frustration over trying to find the internet, he eventually figured out how to bring up a web page by double-clicking the little colorful icon on the main screen. _Okay,_ he thought, _so far so good. Now then...How do I search for information?_

He looked down at the row of letters and figured it was just like a typewriter. _I can work this_. He began pressing the little keys and saw that each letter appeared in the long white bar across the top of the web page. He continued typing until he had created the phrase he desired to search: _"_BUCKY BARNES."

_Alright, now what?_ the Soldier thought irritably. _What button do I press to search...?_

He looked over the keyboard, impatiently sweeping his long brown hair out of his eyes. _I don't know...Would "ENTER" work maybe?_

He pressed the rectangular key and the web page brought up listings of the name "BUCKY BARNES", and occasionally the name "JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES" appeared on the page too. He clicked on the first link – from a website called "Wikipedia" – which brought up a lengthy article about this person...along with a picture that looked very much like himself...

The Soldier, ignoring the uncanny picture, started to read. He read about this Sergeant James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes person: all about how he was a sergeant in the U.S. Army during World War II, had been captured behind enemy lines and was rescued by the famous Captain America – Wait. _Captain America..._The Soldier looked at the picture of the Captain that was on the far right side of the web page. He was...he had been his _mission._ He had seen him not too long ago, how can that be the same person from World War II? _He's the same person who called me Bucky..._

He kept reading. He read about how Sergeant Barnes had been a part of the "Howling Commandos," a group of soldiers who worked directly with Captain America to bring down the Nazi research division, HYDRA. Then he read about the train: the last place that Sergeant Barnes had been seen alive was on a HYDRA train, where, according to military records, he unfortunately fell to his death. His body had never been found.

The Soldier reached the end of Barnes' biography and leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. His target – Captain America – had called him "Bucky", saying they had been friends...It seemed that Captain America thought that _he_ was this Bucky Barnes person, his best friend. _But that's not possible_, the Soldier thought. _I'm not from World War II, I'd have to be like a hundred years old if I was...But, then again, how was Captain America still alive and looking _exactly_ like he did in the '40s?_

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. _I need to look into this more_, he told himself. So he clicked on the link to the Wikipedia article titled "Captain America" and read all about his life as well: the Super-Soldier serum...his involvement in the war...the plane crash where he disappeared...And then he got to the part about New York. Apparently Captain America had been resurrected somehow because he was seen in the Battle of New York, where he and a number of others had fought against an alien invasion. But his life was still surrounded in some mystery and there were unanswered questions – how he was resurrected, why he hasn't aged in seventy years, what his real name was...

So...Captain America lived and fought in World War II and is still living and fighting today...It isn't clear _how_, but the story is still true. So it is possible that a person could live in one time period and be resurrected in another, Captain America is living proof of that. _Maybe_, the Soldier thought, _just maybe...the same thing happened to me..._

But he shook off the thought. _There's no way that happened to me_, he tried convincing himself. _I would have...remembered something like that. What happened to Captain America was probably just a freak thing, there's no way that happened to me..._

Why, then, did this story give the Soldier a feeling of _familiarity?_

Looking back at the laptop screen, a name listed in the article caught his eye. A name that was vaguely familiar. He clicked on the name, which led him to an article entitled "Margaret 'Peggy' Carter." He started to read.

When he finished the article, something in his mind was burning – some feeling he vaguely remembered as...curiosity. This woman was familiar to him, he couldn't deny that. She had fought in the war...but she was still alive. Yes, that's how he knows her; he met her recently, not back in the '40s. That would be impossible.

He searched her name in the white search bar like he had before and after digging through more information about her, he eventually found an address. He glanced around his hideaway and found a crumpled piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled the address, a London address, on the paper, and was filled with a different, new, emotion. He vaguely remembered it as...determination.

* * *

"On your left."

"You know, Steve, that's getting _really_ old _really_ fast!"

Steve smirked as he ran past Sam, slowing down a bit to let Sam catch up with him. They were jogging along their usual route, which took them around the Washington monument. Sam was, as usual, having a hard time keeping up with Steve, who used his Super-Soldier genes to his advantage. Most of the time Steve tried slowing down so he and Sam could actually run side by side, but then most of the time Sam would irritably yell at him to just take a few laps and not worry about slowing his pace. So he would do that. And each time he passed Sam (which was quite often, Steve was proud to admit), he would say the same thing every time.

"Are you sure you're getting tired of that?" Steve retaliated as he turned around to face Sam, jogging backwards. "Because I'm not."

"Ha ha," replied Sam, starting to get out of breath. "You're _hilarious_, Steve. I would hit you, but these days society frowns on hitting senior citizens."

"Oh, good one. Never heard _that_ one before."

There was something about Sam that made Steve comfortable to joke around and have fun. He felt like he could be himself when Sam was around – not the serious soldier that he had slowly become during the war (and, admittedly, during his time at SHIELD back before it fell), but the person who loved to make fun of his best friend. Steve felt a sudden pang that he knew didn't come from running fifteen miles. Missing Bucky hadn't hurt any less over the years, not even when he found out Bucky was still alive. In fact, knowing now that Bucky was alive and had become the Winter Soldier hurt worse because Steve knew that the old Bucky was most likely gone. But that didn't stop him from being determined to find him.

He and Sam eventually slowed down and rested under an oak tree on a small patch of green grass. They sat in relative silence for a few seconds, both of them huffing after their intense workout, before Sam said something.

"You okay?"

Steve looked over at him. "Why do you ask that?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. You just look like you're worried about something."

"You know me, Sam. I'm _always_ worried about something."

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't be."

Steve thought about that for a second. He opened his mouth to say something when he was cut off by a stylish blue car pulling up in the street next to them. The driver rolled down the window and Steve was surprised when he saw who the driver was.

"Hey boys," said Natasha, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Now, this _does_ feel familiar. Just like old times, right?"

Steve stood up. "What are you doing in D.C., Natasha?"

"What, no 'Wow, Natasha, you look beautiful'? 'Natasha, I've missed you so much'? 'Natasha, I can't live without you, now come back to me, precious one'?"

"Well that just goes without saying," Steve replied smoothly. Natasha took off her sunglasses, looking pleased.

"I'm have some business here in America's Capitol, Rogers," she finally answered, looking him square in the eye. "A mission, one might call it."

"What about?" piped up Sam, eyeing the beautiful redhead.

Natasha smirked, knowing full-well that Sam was (and probably will never stop) checking her out. "I don't think it concerns you, bird boy. Well, not you _directly_." She lowered her voice, glancing around her surroundings. "Off the record, I'm looking into something that might have to do with how SHIELD was brought down."

Steve blinked, surprised. "But, we _know_ how SHIELD was brought down: HYDRA."

"Yes, and that's the interesting part," said Natasha with an intrigued little smile. "There may be some things we didn't know we didn't know."

"Does it have to do with Bucky?"

Steve couldn't help but ask the question. Anything related to SHIELD or HYDRA or anything even relatively close to that made him desperate for information on his best friend.

Natasha paused before answering, clearly choosing her words carefully.

"I'm not sure," she said slowly. "But it might."

"Let me in on it," Steve said instantly. "I can help you, if you know anything on Bucky I can –"

Natasha held up her hands to silence him. "Steve. I can't. This mission was assigned to me and only me, unfortunately. And I can't just bend the rules on this one, my orders come from higher up."

She glanced down at the clock on the car's dashboard. "I need to go. I promise," she added when Steve opened his mouth to speak, "that if I hear something about the Winter Soldier, I'll let you know."

_It seems I'm the only one who still refers to him as "Bucky",_ Steve observed. Natasha put her sunglasses back on and, seeing the sad look on Steve's face, added, "Look, if you want to get in on this mission, take it up with the Director, okay?"

She drove away without waiting to hear an answer to that. But that didn't stop Steve from shouting a determined "I will" back to her. He watched the blue car drive away and disappear behind a corner.

Sam came up behind him and patted him on the back. "Don't worry, Steve," he consoled his friend. "If she finds something on him, she'll tell you. I know she will."

Steve nodded slowly without saying anything, his eyes still cast in the direction of her car. He wished he wasn't so obsessed with finding Bucky, he really did. He was getting tired of having to scrape the bottom of the barrel to find even a scrap of news regarding his old best friend. _Why can't Bucky just come find me and we can go back to the way things were?_ Steve mused.

He sighed. _Well, that's not going to happen so I might as well not dwell on it_.

He reached his arms over his head, stretching, and exhaled, saying to Sam, "So, ready for Round Two?"

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "I bet you'd never stop running if no one stopped you."

Steve smirked in response. "Well, there's only one way to find that out."

He took off without another word from Sam, and laughed when he heard Sam swearing at him from under the oak tree.


	7. Got a Date with an Angel

In the Still of the Night

**A/N: Another long chapter! I'm writing a lot quicker than I thought I would, so hopefully updates will keep coming in a steady stream. :)**

**There is something I wanted to address really quickly before you read. There have been a few questions about the plot that I wanted to clear up regarding the hacker and the protected file:**

**- What happened was this - Coulson discovered that someone tried hacking SHIELD's computer, and Natasha found out that person used from a computer in the Smithsonian to do it. **

**- Someone **_**also**_** tried hacking into a Smithsonian computer (not necessarily the same one that tried hacking the SHIELD computer). They tried gaining access to a file that is protected by a Smithsonian staff password AND a SHIELD password. So whoever can access the file needs to be both a Smithsonian employee AND current/former SHIELD member.**

**- So basically there are two different computers being hacked: one from SHIELD, and one from the Smithsonian. Who did it and for what purpose is still uncertain.**

**- I know it's a little unclear right now but Natasha, Vera, and Michael are unclear about it right now too, so that's kind of the point. But things will get explained in due time, I promise! If this made you even more confused, just bear with me. And thank you to the reader who brought this to my attention.**

**Enjoy this chapter (and don't forget to review)!  
**

**P.S. - There are some new links to images of their outfits, etc., on my profile. :)**

**-PenPaperParadise**

Chapter Seven: Got a Date with an Angel

It was Friday evening. Steve was coming to her apartment in thirty minutes, and Vera was, admittedly, far from ready. She had gotten off of work late, been stuck in traffic, talked to Monica (her best friend) on the phone for an hour because she had forgotten to call her back last week, and was currently rushing around trying to find the perfect outfit to wear. At this point, however, Vera was tempted just to throw on whatever she found first in her closet because she still had to do her hair and makeup. She rifled through her closet, desperately searching for something to wear – when she saw it.

_Oh I can't wear _that_ tonight..._she thought, biting her lip. But she pulled it out anyway: it was a scarlet dress with a scoop neck that went just under her collarbone. The skirt was slightly A-line and reached to the tops of her knees. It was fairly modest compared to what most women wore on dates these days; but she didn't want to shock Steve on their first date (after all, he had only ever seen her in blazers and business skirts). _I mean, a red dress?_ Vera considered. _I don't know..._

Although...Steve _had_ asked her to dress up for their date (actually, he had just sent her a mysterious text that morning saying "Wear something fancy"), so he would be expecting her to be wearing something nice. And she hadn't worn that dress in a long time, and the last time she wore it she had to admit it made her look pretty good. _What the hell_, she finally conceded. _If Steve gets scared off by a little red dress, then oh well._

So she slipped it on and studied herself in the mirror. _Thank God it still fits_, she thought with a relieved smile. _I think this will work._

Vera rushed at full speed to put on her makeup and do her hair, which she just lightly curled. She didn't want to overdo it and looked like she tried too hard, but she wanted to look good, too. She slipped on her nicest pair of nude-colored pumps and put on a gold bangle and gold earrings. Just as she grabbed her purse and a jacket, she heard a knock on her front door and a butterfly fluttered through her stomach.

_My first date – well, first official date – with Steve. Here goes nothing._

She opened the door to let him in – and her stomach fluttered even more. He looked _good_. He was wearing a navy blue sweater with a blue and white plaid shirt underneath it and his brown leather jacket over the sweater. He had on gray slacks and brown shoes that matched his jacket. His blonde hair was combed to the side nicely and looked perfect. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle when he looked at her.

"Wow," he said, looking over at her. "You look beautiful."

Vera blushed; honestly, it had been a long time since someone had said that to her. "Thank you. You're not looking half bad yourself."

Steve smiled and offered his arm to her. "Shall we?"

It had been a long time since somewhat had done _that_ for her, too; but she was glad he did. Happily, she took his arm as he led her down the stone steps of her townhouse. There was a motorcycle parked right in front of the house. Vera saw it and whistled, impressed.

"Is this yours?" she asked Steve, indicating the motorcycle.

"Yes," he said with pride. "But you won't be riding it tonight; I knew you'd be dressing nicely so I picked a place within walking distance of your house."

"And that place would be...?"

Steve's blue eyes twinkled. "You'll see."

They walked down the city street a little ways, passing by people jogging or walking their dogs or strolling with their lovers in the cool evening twilight. It felt nice feeling like she was...well, normal, Vera mused. It had been so long since she had done this...since she had been on the arm of a man whom she liked, feeling excited about getting to know him and him getting to know her. Experiencing it again made her realize just how much she had missed it, ever since what happened with...well, she needn't think about that now.

"This is it," Steve said as they approached a line of brick buildings. They were on an avenue of shops and restaurants that Vera had passed through only a few times since living in D.C. (because, in all honesty, she didn't leave the museum much). It was a pretty little area of her neighborhood, with tall trees lining the streets and tiny lights from the edges of the buildings twinkling in the evening sky.

Steve led her to the front doors of a building with the name "The Victory Garden" painted on its windows. Even though the windows were dark, Vera began to surmise what type of place it was based on the swing music she heard coming from inside. She raised her eyebrows at Steve approvingly, and he only smiled and held the door open for her, ushering her inside.

The Victory Garden was a dance club slash restaurant at which Vera had never even cast a second glance the few times she had visited this part of town. It was kind of hidden away, actually; almost like it was a secret club that was in plain sight yet few people knew about it. The inside, however, was far from sketchy: it had a quiet opulence about it that reminded Vera of the old swing clubs for the elite back in the 1930s and '40s. The walls were a crimson color that offset nicely with the black furniture – shiny black booths, polished black tables – the only exception being the clean white tablecloths and napkins that added a welcome crispness to the room. Each table also had a pop of color on them, as there was a small white vase with a red rose on every tabletop. Inside, it was dim, but certainly not dingy; the lighting was soft and romantic, with candles illuminating the room. The biggest spectacle of the room, however, was right in the center of the space: there was a large dance floor made of rich dark brown oak and a brightly illuminated stage where a dapperly-dressed swing band was currently playing a catchy retro tune. On the white back wall of the stage were the club's logo (a swirly sketch of a black flower with a simple red dot in its center) and the name of the club written in beautiful black calligraphy.

Vera was floored by the atmosphere of the place; it was like she had been sucked into one of the many old photographs she examined from work. Most of the customers, too, encouraged this atmosphere, as many of them were dressed in retro-style dresses and suits and had their hair and makeup done in the same Old Hollywood-esque fashion. The waiters and waitresses were dressed smartly, too, in well-tailored black and white outfits, carrying silver trays of delicious-looking food. Vera was absolutely mesmerized.

Steve must have seen her expression because he smiled at her and said, "I knew you'd like this place."

"Like it?" Vera asked incredulously, tearing her gaze away from the spectacle of the room to look into Steve's eyes, squeezing his arm appreciatively. "I absolutely love it! How did you find this place?"

"My roommate brought me here once. He knows I'm into stuff like this."

"Well," said Vera, exhaling slowly. "You have outdone yourself, mister. This place...doesn't feel real."

"I know what you mean," Steve murmured under his breath.

A smart-looking waiter seated them at an intimate little table right next to the dance floor. Steve held Vera's chair out for her, which Vera noticed he did with hardly a second thought. _His mom raised him well,_ she mused, and figured that tonight would be her first decent date in years.

* * *

They ordered, wined and dined, and the whole time they sat at the table they just talked. Even when the check came, the candles melted down, and the dance floor wore thin, they were still talking, exploring each other's interests and telling stories from their pasts while the swing band played tune after catchy tune. Every so often the band would play a song that one of them liked and they'd point it out, and Steve was impressed to learn that Vera knew 1940s music just as well as he did.

"...Come on, it's your turn!" Vera chided, poking Steve in the arm.

He chuckled. "Alright, alright. Um...I...wake up at five every morning and go running?"

"Great, now I feel like the laziest person ever," Vera pouted. "And the game is you're supposed to name something _interesting_ about yourself, not your day-to-day routine."

"I guess I didn't know there was a rulebook," replied Steve smoothly, grinning.

"You can just follow my example for now," Vera said, raising one eyebrow. "For example, in high school I spent a summer building houses in Honduras. See? That's interesting."

"Well, speaking of making someone feel lazy," Steve joked, and Vera laughed. "Alright, alright. Um...I love to draw."

"Draw as in sketching on a napkin, or as in creating art?"

"Well, I don't know how good I am to call it 'art'," Steve murmured humbly. "But I like to sketch. I usually do buildings and landscapes and such, but I do cartoons occasionally too."

"Maybe you can show me one of your sketches some time," Vera suggested, and Steve smiled and nodded. "Alright, my turn," she said, thinking. "...Um...Oh! I have a terrible fear of getting burned by my toaster."

"I speak French pretty fluently."

"I've played piano since I was five."

"I've never seen any of the Star Wars movies."

Vera's jaw dropped. "Are you _serious?_ You've _never_ seen any of the Star Wars movies? Not even the good ones?"

"The...good ones?"

"The original ones. Don't let anyone tell you that the prequels are better than the originals."

"Um, okay," Steve replied, though still a little confused. He had only been back in "present day" for three years, and he was very busy, so there were still many things he had to catch up on.

"Sorry, I guess my nerd is showing," Vera confessed, leaning back in her chair.

"Don't be sorry," Steve said instantly. "I think it's cute."

Vera blushed. "I just really like Star Wars because it reminds me of my mom. When I was little, my mom let me stay home from school when I was sick, so she and I would marathon the Star Wars movies because I had to be confined to the couch all day." Vera gave a soft smile, her eyes lowering to the table. "I haven't thought about that in such a long time."

"You sound like you're close with your mom," Steve observed, and Vera nodded.

"She's like my best friend. She raised me by herself." Vera suddenly looked unsure about something. She spoke cautiously, as if she were choosing her words carefully. "My dad left us when I was seven, and I'm an only child, so it's pretty much just been me and my mom my whole life."

"I'm sorry," Steve said, expressing genuine sympathy. Steve figured this must be hard for her to talk about because she was speaking carefully, perhaps afraid of giving too much away. _I know what that's like_, Steve mused.

"Nah, don't be," Vera waved her hand, brushing it off. But she still had a sad look on her face. "My mom and I had a pretty good life together. And I never really knew my dad, and the few things I remember about him weren't pleasant." She paused, realizing what she had just said. "Sorry, I usually don't say stuff like that on the first date...I didn't realize how depressing that sounded..."

"I never knew my dad, he died before I was born," Steve said suddenly before he could stop himself. Vera just looked at him. He swallowed, fearing he was on the borderline of revealing something about himself that he shouldn't, but he felt an inexplicable instinct to trust her. Normally he wasn't one to divulge information about his past, but talking to Vera was easy and he felt like she could understand. "My mom raised me by herself too, and she died when I was sixteen."

Vera said nothing; whether because she was thinking about what he had said, or if she didn't know how to respond, Steve wasn't sure.

"You see?" said Steve softly. "You're not the only one who says depressing stuff."

Vera laughed in spite of herself. "Touché." She looked directly into Steve's eyes. "I guess we're not as alone as we thought we were."

Steve looked back into her eyes. "I guess not."

The band started to play a slow little tune, and Vera immediately smiled.

"'In the Still of the Night'," Vera breathed. "Another interesting thing you should know about me: this is my favorite song."

Steve said nothing, but looked at her with the ghost of a smile on his face. Without a word he stood up, walked over to Vera, and held his hand out to her. She looked at him questioningly and he gestured with his eyes toward the dance floor. Vera just shook her head in disbelief.

"Alright, Steve," Vera said in a way that made it sound like she was about to conduct a business transaction, "before I go dance with you, I need you to tell me one thing: do you have _any_ flaws?"

Steve grinned. "Yes, I do. One that I told you about, remember?"

Vera looked at him blankly. Steve's grin widened. "I've never seen Star Wars."

Vera laughed – her laugh was high and clear, like a bell. "Okay, okay. It's good to know you're not one-hundred percent perfect."

She took his hand gently and stood up. He led them over to the dance floor as the slow, pretty music played from the band. There were several other well-dressed couples swaying to the music on the dance floor, some old, some young. Steve took her to the center of the dance floor, taking her hand in his left and resting his other hand lightly on her waist. She took his hand and rested her left hand on his shoulder. They swayed easily to the music, taking in each other's rhythms and matching them so they moved in synchronicity. Vera sighed (with content, Steve hoped).

"_In the still of the night_

_As I gaze from my window..."_

"Steve...can I ask you something?" Vera inquired softly.

"Of course," he replied.

She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I know it might seem dumb or pesky of me to keep asking you this, but...what exactly _is_ your relationship to Captain America?"

"_As I gaze from my window_

_At the moon in its flight, my thoughts all stray to you..."_

Steve tensed up a little in spite of himself. She was starting to get suspicious, and he knew this couldn't end well.

Vera continued: "I only ask because I feel like there's something you're not telling me about him, and, well, to be honest my curious side can take over sometimes. Not only that, but since we're working on this new exhibit at the museum about him, there might be some things you could tell me about him that we don't know about. If you're willing, of course. If not, I totally understand."

Steve felt bad. He hated lying to her, he really did, but it was the only way to keep himself – and, he realized, Vera – safe. But if this girl was someone he could go a long way with...shouldn't he tell her the truth sooner or later? _Or later rather than sooner,_ Steve decided.

"Vera...you're right. There is something more about this Captain America thing that I'm not telling you. But...it's something I can't tell you right now. Just trust me on this, okay?"

Vera nodded slowly. "Alright. I trust you. And..." Something sad came to her voice. "I know there are some things, things from your past, you maybe shouldn't reveal to someone you just met."

Steve took this as a hint that there were some things in Vera's past that she wasn't ready to talk about yet. Steve understood that completely and nodded.

"_Do you love me, as I love you?_

_Are you my life to be that dream come true?..."_

"Besides," Steve added, smiling a little to himself, "this gives you a reason to go out on a second date with me."

Vera looked at him dead on. "I don't need you to bribe me to go on a second date with you," she said quietly, and Steve's heart soared.

"_Or will this dream of mine, will it fade way out of sight?_

_Just like that moon growing dim, on the rim of the hill,_

_In the still, still of the night..."_

They continued holding each other for a moment more after the song ended and the rest of the couples on the dance floor applauded. They broke out of their reverie and let go of each other, applauding weakly as they both smiled shyly at the floor.

At the end of the night, Steve and Vera chatted happily as he walked her home, Vera holding onto his arm like she had before. They walked up the steps to Vera's narrow townhouse and stopped at her front door.

"This was fun," Vera said genuinely. "Honestly, I can't remember the last time I went out on a date that ended well."

"Same," Steve said, although he didn't want to admit to her that he could count on one hand how many dates he's had before.

"Thank you, Steve," she smiled up at him. "I had a really great time."

"You're welcome," Steve replied softly. He felt something in the air between them; whether it was the stars in the sky or the way she was looking at him, he couldn't tell. Then, without thinking, without his mind telling him to pause and consider all the possible outcomes, he leaned in and kissed her. For once he wasn't second-guessing himself or wondering if he was doing the right thing; he just let himself feel instead of think, and kissing her felt wonderful. It was a rather chaste kiss, one that was expected at the end of a first date between two practically-strangers, but Steve couldn't help but feel an inexplicable yet wonderful spark between them. She tasted sweet, like strawberries, and feeling her kissing him back made it taste all the sweeter.

After a few moments they broke apart. Vera's cheeks were that same color they always were when she blushed, and Steve thought she looked beautiful.

"Good night, Steve," she said, her voice sounding light and airy, like she was in another world.

"Good night, Vera," he replied in the same way, feeling a cocktail of various emotions welling up inside him. He turned and bounded down the steps, looking back at her to make sure she got into her house okay. Right before she closed the door behind her she saw Steve and flashed him a little smile. Steve smiled right back.

As he got on his motorcycle and revved up the engine, Steve's mind was whirling with thoughts and wishes and hopes, yet he felt like his mind was numb. What was this girl doing to him? He didn't know...but he definitely wasn't complaining either. He was happier than he had felt in months. Years, even.

Boy, was Sam going to flip his shit when Steve got home.


	8. Almost Like Being in Love

**In the Still of the Night**

**Chapter Eight: Almost Like Being in Love**

Steve and Vera continued dating, learning and liking more and more about each other with every moment they spent together. They bonded quickly, fanning the spark they had discovered between them and discovering much about each other. Steve showed Vera many places around D.C. that he thought she would like – dance clubs, restaurants, parks – and he was always right about her liking them. Though she had lived in D.C. for a few years too, Vera had told him that she hardly ever leaves the museum so Steve took it upon himself to show her a good time. They had very similar interests, which Steve figured came from her liking the 1940s and Steve actually living during that time.

There were some things they still kept from each other, mainly about their past histories, because despite their closeness they both still had secrets they were not keen on revealing just yet. Vera had told Steve quite a bit about her mother, but she seldom spoke about her father. She hardly divulged stories that went too far back in her childhood; Steve figured (and hoped) it was just because her past was hard for her to talk about, and not because she was afraid of telling him or something. In fact, they kept the fact that they were dating on the down low because they both decided they did not want their friends and loved ones to make a big deal about them. They wanted to go at their own pace with each other and not have to worry about holding up to everybody else's standards. Steve was glad that Vera agreed with this; the less people that knew about him dating a girl he was serious about, the better because he did not want the wrong kind of people knowing that she was close to him and could be used to get to him. The only exception to their rules of secrecy were Sam, of course, and Vera's best friend Monica, who Steve had met a few times and seemed like a nice girl.

Keeping his secret was beginning to take a toll on Steve; his guilt increased every time he was called away for a mission or made up some lie about what his real job was. All he had told her was that he used to be in the military and now worked for the government, but beyond that she hardly knew a thing about his line of work. Sure, they had only been dating for a few months but Steve was getting tired of lying to her. But every time he thought about telling her, he was afraid of her potential reaction: Would she find his whole situation to be too weird and want to back out? Would she be angry at him for lying to her this whole time? Or would she even believe him when he told her about the Super Serum and fighting in World War II? Of all the possible scenarios Steve imagined in his head, very few of them ended well.

Because of his uncertainty, Steve decided to consult the one person who he trusted and knew well enough to give him relationship advice.

"Hey, Sam, you got a minute?"

Sam, who was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, nodded as he spit out toothpaste into the sink. "What's up, Cap?"

Steve paused, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom and taking in a breath. "When do you think is the right time to tell a girl you've been dating for months that you're a genetically-enhanced superhero who was born over ninety years ago and got frozen during World War II and was defrosted and now works as a secret government agent?"

Sam merely laughed in response, wiping his mouth on a towel. "Man, Steve. Sometimes I forget just how screwed up your life is."

"I'm serious, Sam," Steve said urgently. "I'm tired of lying to Vera. I want her to know everything about me."

"Steve," Sam said firmly, turning to face him. "You've got to be _absolutely_ _sure_ that you can trust this girl. If you tell her your secret and she's secretly working for HYDRA or something, then we'll all be in deep shit."

"I know. But I've gotten to know her pretty well over these past few months and she doesn't seem like a trained assassin or spy."

"Well, if you're sure..."

"I am. I just...I don't know how to tell her without scaring her off," Steve admitted.

"Look, man, don't you think that if she's the right girl for you then she _won't_ get scared off by that? Because you deserve to end up with someone who knows all your secrets and still accepts you for who you are."

Steve considered this. If he were to settle down with someone then that person should probably know every aspect of Steve's life. Not that he was considering proposing to Vera or anything; but once or twice the thought did cross his mind that maybe she was the one he could marry somewhere down the road...

His silence was broken by Sam asking one question he didn't really know how to answer: "Do you love her?"

Steve thought about it. He liked her a lot and loved spending time with her. She was sweet, charming, funny, and an overall good person with morals. But Steve couldn't help but think back to his first love...Peggy...and how he felt about her. He knew that was love; he could feel it in his very soul that he loved her. But with Vera, there was something different in his heart toward her...He felt like it could be love, but perhaps there was something blocking her way into his heart: fear? Insecurity? ...Deception?

"I...I want to say yes," Steve finally answered. "I really do. But I don't know yet if I can let myself love her if she doesn't accept me for who I am."

Sam took a step toward Steve and clapped him on the shoulder. "Well then, there's your answer."

Sam sidled past Steve to go into the hallway, leaving Steve in the bathroom doorway thinking about what he just said. If the only thing stopping Steve from admitting he loves Vera is his uncertainty about if she will accept him or not, then he needs to find out what is in her heart too.

"I'll tell her," Steve concluded, following Sam into the living room. "I'm just going to tell her. I need to know if she'll be scared off by my situation or not. Then I'll know if I love her."

Sam smiled genuinely. "She won't be scared off. I know it, Steve."

Steve smiled back. "Thanks, Sam."

"Although," Sam continued deviously, "she might get scared off by the fact that you have Super Genetics...and then she'll begin to ask questions about just how _enhanced_ that serum made you..."

"Sam!" Steve spluttered. "I...We've barely even gone beyond kissing, she's not thinking of...No."

"Are you sure? Because at this stage in a relationship –"

"No, Sam," Steve said firmly. "She's the one who said we should take it slow, so we are. Case closed."

Sam threw up his hands to show he had given up. "Alright, alright, Lover Boy. I'm just teasin' ya."

"Yeah and it's really appreciated over here."

"Don't be so sensitive, friends are allowed to make fun of other friends."

"Oh really? That's good to know, Bird Brain."

"Man, you leave the Falcon out of this!" Sam shot back, huffing. "By the way, out of curiosity: when are you planning on telling her your super secret?"

Steve thought about it. "I'm taking her out tomorrow night...So I guess that's when I'll tell her."

"You better start praying between now and then, Cap. You're gonna need it."

"I thought you said you were sure she'd be okay with it!"

"I did," Sam grinned. "But you're gonna need God's help to muster up enough courage to even _tell_ her."

Steve hadn't thought of that. "Damn it," he swore under his breath, ignoring Sam's derisive laughter.

* * *

Natasha had figured that after all these hours of trying to figure out the identity of the SHIELD archive hacker, she would have gotten _somewhere_. It was becoming increasingly difficult to get any information on the hacker because he was damn good at covering his tracks, whoever he was. But Natasha was getting there...slowly but surely.

She was currently sitting outside at a quiet little café in D.C. There were few people walking around in the shopping plaza this late in the evening, and even fewer were sitting around her in the café because fall was rolling around and it was starting to get cold at night. Natasha didn't mind the cold, though; if anything, the frigid air kept her focused and alert.

She typed away at her laptop, not bothering to hide what she was working on since there was hardly anyone around. She brought up files, data access histories, and a multitude of other information to give her any clues on who this hacker was and why they tried breaching SHIELD's archives. Then she brought up a file on the location of the host computer's location: she had gotten the coordinates for a computer within the Smithsonian. But as Natasha looked into the file, she noticed something was off: that was just _one_ of the coordinates listed for the host computer's location. She dug into it more and suddenly an entire list of coordinates popped up. She looked up some of the coordinates using SHIELD global records: the coordinates stretched all over the world. Some were local and came from within the state; some were as far away as Nepal and China and Australia.

So there were _multiple computers_ hacking the SHIELD archives, not just the one in the Smithsonian, that was just the first one listed...and they all hacked the archives at the _same exact_ time. This was something planned on a global scale, not just some random person trying to get information on an old case or something. This was an organized group of people trying to get restricted information from a government agency. Natasha started to get worried; the more she looked into this case, the bigger and more complicated it got.

_I have to find the identity of this group_, she told herself. _But I don't know where to start..._She brought up the location of the first pair of coordinates again: the Smithsonian. _Well, I have to start somewhere_.

She hacked her way into the Smithsonian's database and tried searching for anything fishy on any of their many computers. After searching for a while, she did find one file on an archival computer that was odd: it was unnamed and restricted. She brought the file up and tricked her way past the Smithsonian faculty password, leading her to a file within the file that required a password...from SHIELD. _That's odd_, Natasha thought. _What involvement does SHIELD have with a museum?_

She used her SHIELD password on the file, but nothing happened. It didn't let her into the file. She tried hacking her way through but to no avail. This was a heavily guarded file, and she knew there was no way past it at this point. _But I wonder if there's someone who works for the museum who can get past it_...

Natasha brought up the Smithsonian's staff records and cross-referenced them with current or former SHIELD members. No matches. _Alright...I guess they're making me do this the hard way._ She brought up SHIELD's database of members, where one can search for an employee based on practically anything, from what division they worked in to the color of their eyes. So in the "current whereabouts" search box, Natasha typed in 'museum' and several matches came up. Then she narrowed it down to just the Smithsonian, and...no matches.

Natasha sighed irritably, leaning back in her chair. _Fine,_ she thought, coming up with a different solution. _Perhaps I should have a talk with one of your staff members._

She brought the list of Smithsonian staff members again and scanned it for names. The first name she saw that had "curator" listed as their position, she wrote down on a scrap of paper. She looked at the name scribbled on the little paper. _I sincerely hope you don't lie to me when I interrogate you,_ she thought to herself, _for your sake._

She closed her laptop, stuck the piece of paper with the name on it in her pocket, and started walking to her car. _Vera Rochester,_ Natasha thought, _I'm going to pay you a visit tomorrow._


	9. Spying is Trying

In the Still of the Night

**A/N: And here is yet another chapter. Nothing **_**too**_** exciting happens in this chapter, but I promise that next chapter will be interesting...see the author's note at the very end. ;)**

**Also, two things: someone wrote a review for the last chapter saying that Cap's identity is common knowledge, which I know, and you all know, but for the purpose of this story I decided to **_**not**_** make it common knowledge. As I said in the author's note in chapter one, not everything will be 100% canon so just go with it. But thanks to the reviewer who brought that to my attention.**

**The second thing is another reviewer was asking about how Natasha knows that Coulson was still alive. Thanks for bringing this up because I honestly never even thought about it (binge-watching Agents of SHIELD in two weeks made me forget that Coulson being alive isn't common knowledge haha), but in my mind I established that once Coulson was made Director of SHIELD he had to come forward and say he wasn't dead. It would be hard to run SHIELD as a Director who everyone thought was dead, so all SHIELD agents know he's alive now (including Natasha, Steve, and the rest of the Avengers as well).**

**And now, onto the chapter! Read & review, as always! :)**

**-PenPaperParadise**

Chapter Nine: Spying is Trying

Vera was stuck at the museum yet again, and the only thing that kept her going happily was the fact that she knew that she and Steve were going out that night. The two of them had been going out for only a few months but she already felt happier than she had in a long time. She was surprised about that, actually; Vera thought she would never be happy again...not after Joey.

Every time she thought about Joey, she felt like the hole in her heart grew a little bigger and emptier. It had happened so long ago but it did not hurt any less than the day she had found out...

Vera shook her head, clearing away the thoughts of her past. _I can't think about that now_, she tried convincing herself. _It happened a long time ago, and it's over. I won't ever get him back, and I need to accept that_. _I have Steve now._

She smiled at that thought. Steve really was a great guy. He was so different than most guys she knew today – guys who were selfish and rude and had low standards. She and Steve had so much in common; she was surprised, actually, about how much he was into vintage things just as much as she was. And she was surprised at how willing he was to embrace Vera's different ways of thinking: her mom had raised her with ideals that were considered old-fashioned these days, ideals like expecting her man to be a gentleman and waiting to have sex until she knew he was the "right guy." Most guys she had dated in the past thought she was too much of a prude, but she stuck to her morals. And Steve put up with – no, not put up with, _accepted_ these ideals and Vera was truly grateful for that.

Although...Vera did know that Steve was hiding something – or many things – from her. He was always rather mysterious about things like his work and his family and his past. She couldn't blame him, though; Vera herself hadn't told Steve everything about her life yet. So she figured she should just be patient and wait for both of them to be ready to talk about those things.

Her musings were interrupted by a knock on her door.

"Vera?" Michael opened the door slightly, glancing anxiously at her.

"What is it, Michael?" Vera asked. She leaned forward, excited. "Did you find out more about the file?"

Michael's eyes grew wide. _Something's off with him,_ Vera thought. "Uh...no," he answered nervously, casting a sideways glance down the hallway outside her office door. "But, uh, there's someone here who needs to speak to you...She said she's from the government..."

Vera's heart nearly skipped a beat. _The government? _she thought, panicked. _Oh God, if the government knows we've been poking around in the archives and found something to do with SHIELD and didn't report it..._

"Oh...let her in," Vera said carefully.

Michael stepped aside and let in the government agent. She was a rather beautiful woman with short, straight red hair and a slim physique. She was wearing a smart pantsuit and Vera saw that there was an I.D. tag on her jacket with her name, Agent Natalie Rushman, on it, and underneath it was a government logo: the FBI. _Oh Jesus._

"So, what is this file you said you're having a problem with?" the agent asked, stepping into Vera's office. Vera could almost sense a smirk underneath the woman's patient smile.

"Oh, that," Vera said, laughing a little and waving it off. "It's just a file with information on a new exhibit we're creating that an intern lost. Not really a problem." If the protected file was so important that the _government_ wanted to get involved, Vera knew there was something fishy about it and she wanted to know more. So she decided to play innocent.

The woman said nothing to Vera's response, but her smile widened a little more.

"Please, sit down," Vera offered, indicating the chair across from her office. The agent obeyed. "Now, I don't mean to be frank," Vera continued politely, "but who are you and why does a government agent need to talk to me?"

"My name is Agent Rushman," she said without batting an eye. "And yes, I do work for the government. As an FBI agent. I'm here because it's come to my attention that something happened with the museum's security system."

"The security system?" Vera asked, continuing to play innocent.

"More specifically, the archive computers. Apparently there has been a breach in the archives that was deemed suspicious by our department and I'm here to investigate it."

"Really? Well, I don't see what that has to do with me. Maybe you should speak to the head of security."

"Given that this breach _wasn't_ reported to authorities, I had a feeling that I should probably get some other people's information before going to security."

"Are you saying you don't trust our security team?"

Agent Rushman smiled a little, leaning back in her chair. "I'm saying I can't just go off of one person's account of what happened."

"So why come to me then? I'm just a curator."

"Based on the records we searched on the day of the breach, you used your keycard to get into the archive computer room that same night."

"And what night was this?"

The agent's smile subtly grew. "Saturday, June fourteenth at approximately ten o'clock P.M."

"I probably did use my key card that night," Vera said coolly, although on the inside her heart was beginning to race. _If the FBI finds out I'm lying to them..._"I go into the archives all the time to do research."

"That late at night?"

"Sometimes I do. My job often keeps me here late."

"And your intern? Michael, is it? Does he go with you on these frequent 'excursions' to the archives?"

"Sometimes," responded Vera. _Oh no, what if she already interviewed Michael and he told her everything? Then she would know for sure I was lying_... "I'm sure he was with me that night, he sometimes helps me find things on the computers. I confess I'm not that great with technology, so he helps me work the computers to find the information I need."

Agent Rushman just nodded slowly, looking cool and confident. Like she knew something Vera didn't. And that scared her.

"Well, Agent Rushman, I don't know how much help I can be to you. I didn't know about the computer breach until you just told me. I don't have any other information to give you."

"Spoken like someone who's hiding something," the agent responded, dropping all pretense.

Vera laughed. "I assure you, I'm not 'hiding something.' If I was, you'd know because everyone in the museum knows I'm a terrible liar."

The agent looked at her dead in the eyes. "That's something in intend to find out." She stood up and Vera followed suit. "Thank you for your _cooperation_."

Vera picked up on the agent's undertones of suspicion. The two of them shook hands. The agent's grip was strong. "It was my pleasure," Vera lied. "And if I hear of anything strange, I'll let your department know."

"I look forward to it."

The agent left without another word and Vera was sure that all-knowing smirk never left her face. Vera shut the door behind the agent, letting out a long breath. _She knows_, Vera told herself. _She knows about the hacker. Why else would a government agent come here and talk about a possible security breach?_

And yet..._how_ did they find out about the security breach? It wasn't even picked up by the Smithsonian security, so why would it bring attention to the government? Unless...unless the FBI had already been _monitoring_ the museum when they discovered the breach. But why would they monitor a museum? Sure, there were valuables within the museum that had the potential to be stolen, but why on earth would the FBI get involved in something like that? All these questions made Vera's head spin.

_Why did I have to stumble upon that stupid file? _she thought glumly. _My life had been so much less complicated before that..._

_Oh well. At least I've got my date with Steve tonight..._

Little did Vera know that as "Agent Rushman" left the museum that afternoon, she was planning on getting answers and getting those answers with or without Vera's help. _It doesn't matter that you didn't tell me anything_, thought Natasha. _I'm going to break into the archives tonight anyway_.

**A/N: All I can say is, the next chapter will be when the sh*t hits the fan. Dun dun dun. ;)**


	10. More Than You Know

In the Still of the Night

**A/N: Whoa. Oh man, you guys. Writers block: it hit me hard. That's half of the reason I haven't updated in a while; the other half is I've been pretty busy with other stuff so I kind of forgot about updating...sorry guys! But here's this brand new chapter and I hope you guys like it.**

**Also, I wanted to add that I've officially run out of pre-written chapters, so I'll be updating as I write each chapter. That means less updates unfortunately...but fear not! I'll update as often as humanly possible.**

**Thanks to the AWESOME reviews I've gotten so far! (Special shout-out to mokonahapuuuuuu, your reviews have been great and you gave me the inspiration to keep writing!) All you guys rock! :)**

**-PenPaperParadise**

Chapter Ten: More Than You Know

Vera was still thinking about Agent Rushman even after her shift ended that night. She was worried; that agent clearly believed that Vera was involved somehow with the file, and Vera had a feeling that the agent would find out for sure sooner or later. Although Vera wasn't necessarily guilty (it's not like _she_ was the hacker or anything), she still lied to a government official and didn't report a security breach within the museum when it happened. If anyone found out for sure that she had been involved, she would be in a lot of trouble. She would, at the very least, lose her job, maybe even get arrested.

Still...as Vera got up from her desk and prepared to go out on her date with Steve, grabbing her jacket and keys, a thought suddenly struck her: she didn't regret what she did. Something in her gut was telling her that this file was something more than just a simple hacking job, and Vera was determined to solve the mystery herself. And speaking of that file...

...Why not go check on it to see if the agent did something with it?

It was tempting...The museum would be closing soon and if someone caught her in the archives at this time of night – especially someone from the FBI – then she'd have trouble explaining that. But...Vera's curiosity and determination to see this through won in the end.

After locking her office, she quietly snuck down to the archives, and stopped when she reached the door. _My keycard...I'm going to have to use my keycard to get in here. And my keycard is linked to my ID. If the FBI sees I was in the archives at this time of night..._

Despite her worries, Vera decided to throw caution to the wind and used her keycard to open the door. Once inside, Vera sat at the computer that she and Michael always used. She did the same steps that she observed Michael had done every time they looked at the file, and Vera brought up the file after a few clicks and keystrokes. She entered in her Smithsonian I.D. and password and got to the screen that required a SHIELD password. Vera leaned back in her chair, slowly placing her hand over her mouth as she considered something. _I wonder..._

_No, that wouldn't work. SHIELD must have erased my password after I stopped working for them. But...it wouldn't hurt to try..._

_...Would it?_

Thankful that she still remembered her password from her SHIELD days, she entered in the combination of letters. She hesitated before pressing "Enter"; _this won't work...There's no way this will work..._

Without giving herself another second to chicken out, Vera pressed "Enter."

_It worked._

As soon as she pressed "Enter", a little dialogue box popped up that said "ACCESS GRANTED." Vera's heart was hammering. The dialogue box disappeared and a new one took its place, this one saying, "OPEN FILE?" with the option to choose 'yes' or 'no' underneath it. Checking over her shoulder for anyone behind her, and then breathing a sigh to calm her nerves, Vera clicked "yes."

The little dialogue box disappeared. Nothing happened for a second. Then, on the blank screen, only one word popped up. Vera stared at it. A few seconds later, the word disappeared and Vera was brought back to the home screen. The little icon of the folder where the file always appeared was gone.

Vera sat frozen in her chair, her head swimming with what had just happened. She had accessed the file using her old SHIELD password...and inside the file was only one word...and now it's gone? Vera clicked around and could not find the file. Did it delete itself? Where else would it be?

And that word...it looked more like a series of letters than an actual word. It must have been in a different language.

..._"MJOLNIR"? _What the heck kind of word is that? What language is that anyway? What does it mean? Mjolnir...And why on earth was that one word so heavily protected?

_And my old password worked.._., she thought, in disbelief. _How, though? _Vera remembered back to her days working at SHIELD. She had worked there in the archives department and, given her specific job, she had a password that gave her access to a lot of information so that she could search for things that needed to be archived. It was selective, though; she could not access files and things about classified missions, intel on current threats, etc., but she nearly had a Level Ten password when it came to historical SHIELD documents. _Is that how I got access? Because my old password had high access to historical documents? That would make this a historical document, then...but it's just a word! _

_What on earth does this mean?_

Suddenly, a loud alarm started blaring loudly in the room, making Vera jump. She panicked for a second, thinking someone had caught her, but she recognized the sound as a fire alarm. _That's odd_, Vera thought, _there's hardly anyone here still. It's past closing so this can't be a drill..._

She had a bad feeling about this, but she realized her work here in the archives was done so she shut down the computer and left the room. Remembering her fire drill training about leaving the building through specified doors, Vera started heading toward one of the exits. She had to pass through a few exhibits to get to the closest fire exit. Passing through the Captain America exhibit, Vera was startled by a sudden loud crash and the sound of breaking glass. Vera immediately got down and covered her head, thinking this was some sort of explosion, but when she looked up she saw two men dressed in all black lowering themselves to the ground via a rope that came out of the shattered skylight on the ceiling. They landed on the ground and each of them pulled out enormous guns. One of them, the taller of the two, stalked over to Vera.

"Where are the archive computers?" he shouted, pointing the gun right at Vera's face. She held her hands up, still kneeling on the floor. "Where are they?"

"I...I don't..." she stammered, stunned and in shock about what was happening. It all was happening so fast. The man looked like a common burglar; he was wearing all black clothes and had a black cap and a black gun. His eyes were hard and unforgiving.

"Tell me where they are," he growled, taking a step closer, "or I swear I'll shoot you."

The other man came closer too. Vera's raised hands shook. "I..."

Suddenly there was a blur of color that came whizzing past her and the sound of metal hitting metal, and the gun was knocked out of the man's hand. Vera and the two men whipped their heads around to see where that came from, and Vera nearly stopped breathing. _That's...that's Steve_, Vera thought slowly, incredulously. Sure enough, Steve was standing there, his chest heaving, looking angrily at the two men. Suddenly he charged at the men, knocking the one with the gun to the ground as the gun fired sporadically for a few seconds. The other man jumped on him and Steve easily knocked him to the ground.

Vera stayed frozen in place as she watched Steve take the men out so effortlessly. She looked at the ground and saw the object that had knocked the man's gun out of his hand: it was round, and painted red, white, and blue, and had a star in the center...it was a shield. _Captain America's shield_. So if Steve was the one who had thrown the shield...then...that would make him...

Like a bolt of lightning, the realization hit her.

_So that's why he's so evasive about his work._

Vera watched Steve – _or Captain America, I should say_, Vera thought – as he took out both of the men, effortlessly hitting, kicking, and knocking them down with his bare hands. Once the two were on the ground, Steve stalked over to his shield and picked it up, securing it on his arm. He looked over at Vera, came over to her, and helped her up.

"Are you alright?" he asked in a rush.

"Yeah, I'm...I'm fine - "

"We need to get out of here," Steve said quickly, and without another word he started ushering Vera out of the exhibit room (which, Vera observed regretfully, was nearly shattered to pieces) and toward the front entrance. Two more men dressed in black came at them and Steve effortlessly took them out, throwing his shield at them and knocking both of them to the ground. Then he and Vera both ran outside and down the front steps of the museum, where many people in uniform and several cars were waiting out front. Red and blue flashing lights illuminated the dark façade of the museum building as policemen and women were barking orders to groups of listening officers. And as Vera and Steve approached the blockade of cars, a familiar face approached them, making Vera gasp in surprise.

"Agent Rushman?"

"It's actually Romanoff," the redhead corrected. "Natasha Romanoff. I lied. I do that a lot."

Vera gave Natasha an annoyed look and then turned to Steve. "Steve, what the hell is going on?"

"I can't tell you right now," he replied. "I have to go back inside, they need my help in there."

"But –"

He put a reassuring hand on her upper arm. "I'll see you later. I promise."

Before she could protest, Steve turned and ran back up the steps and into the museum, followed by several armed officers.

"Come on," urged Natasha, "you need to come with me."

"No, you need to tell me what's going on," Vera said angrily, standing her ground. "My museum was broken into, I was nearly killed tonight, and I just found out my boyfriend is Captain freaking America. I deserve to know what's happening."

Natasha sighed, gazing over at the museum for a moment. Vera looked her over and noticed that she wasn't wearing her nice suit and FBI badge anymore; she was wearing a tight, black bodysuit with a gun holster on her hip. She looked like an assassin much less an FBI agent. "Honestly," Natasha started slowly, "I don't really know. All I do know is that there's a group of people who broke into the museum and police were sent in to take them out." She paused for a moment and turned to look Vera right in the eyes. "But whoever these burglars are, they're good at what they do."

"Why do you say that?" Vera inquired.

Natasha turned back to the museum, staring up at it. "They beat me to it."

**A/N: PS, if the computer/password/hacker stuff is getting confusing, don't worry: it'll become clearer fairly soon. Don't forget to review! :)**


	11. Plain Talk

In the Still of the Night

**A/N: Hello, you wonderful readers, you! I'm amazed at how many views this story has gotten, so thanks to those who have read my story. And a special thanks to the AMAZING reviews I have gotten. Seriously, you readers who take the time to write reviews make me happy and inspire me, so thank you thank you thank you!**

**Now onto chapter eleven! Review, please, as always. :)**

**-PenPaperParadise**

Chapter Eleven: Plain Talk

Natasha ordered Vera to follow her – despite Vera's protestations – and lead her toward the row of police cars, their flashing blue and red lights illuminating the night. However, they didn't approach a police car – at the end of the row, furthest from the museum, was a plain black car with the white silhouette of a logo on the car's doors. It was a logo that Vera knew all too well.

"SHIELD..." she mumbled to herself, and Natasha gave her a knowing, yet curious, sideways glance.

When they approached the vehicle, a woman with short brown hair and a knowledgeable face came out of the car from the backseat. As she came closer to her, Vera noticed the SHIELD logo on her sleek black jumpsuit.

"I'm Agent Maria Hill," the woman said to Vera. "For your safety, you're going to have to come with me."

Vera hesitated, glancing over at Natasha, who nodded.

"Go with her," Natasha told her. "I'm sure we'll see each other again."

"I'd be surprised if we didn't," Vera muttered bitterly under her breath.

Natasha appeared not to notice that comment. The redhead turned without another word and ran off toward the museum determinedly, just like Steve had merely moments ago.

Agent Hill got into the backseat of the SHIELD car and Vera followed suit. The driver (also wearing the SHIELD logo on his clothes) started the car and began driving away from the museum to an unknown location, which made Vera a bit nervous, especially after nearly being killed only minutes ago. But she took it in stride; she wasn't going to fight it, especially since it looked like SHIELD had something to do with what happened back at the museum. And Vera's curiosity outweighed her desire to get out of this situation.

As they drove along the geometric roads of the city, without any introduction or pretense, Agent Hill immediately starting telling her information that she knew about Vera.

"We know you're a former SHIELD agent, Miss Rochester," she explained in a manner that almost made it sound like she was reciting memorized lines. "Agent Romanoff briefed me before we arrived at the museum. You started working there in oh-nine in the research division as an archivist. Correct?"

"Uh, yes," Vera responded awkwardly. "Um, where are we –?"

"You worked there for two years and left in two thousand-eleven."

"Right, but –"

"This information was hard to come by," said Agent Hill, ignoring Vera's desire to say something, "because according to our employee registration, you still work at SHIELD. Your termination was never recorded in our database."

Vera said nothing. She wondered if Agent Hill was expecting her to act shocked or surprised, but she wasn't. She really didn't feel anything when she heard this news, just a familiar blankness that settled in her torso that occurred whenever her thoughts drifted back to SHIELD. Hill said nothing about her reaction (or lack thereof).

"However," Hill continued, "Romanoff told me she did a little digging, and found out that you willingly left after an incident –"

"Agent Hill," Vera interrupted sternly, stiffening and becoming even more anxious than before. "I'm not going to say one word about my time at SHIELD, because frankly see no reason why that has anything to do with what happened at the museum tonight. What _you_ are going to tell _me_ is where we are going and why you are taking me there."

Agent Hill considered her, her countenance softening a bit (_hopefully_, mused Vera, _because she realized that she practically kidnapped me without answers_.) Hill sighed lightly.

"We're going to a SHIELD base," she explained in a much kinder voice than before. "It's located just outside the city."

Hill paused for a moment, while Vera waited for her to say more.

"And why am I going there?" Vera urged, but Hill shook her head.

"I can't say yet," she said mysteriously. She gave Vera a sympathetic look, but Vera just turned away from her in annoyance, gazing out at the dark scenery outside the tinted car windows.

"Miss Rochester," Hill said slowly, in an overly-gentle tone that indicated she was about to ask for a favor or a request. "I know you don't want to talk about it, but regarding the incident I wanted to ask you –"

"You can ask whatever question you want," Vera said tiredly, not bothering to turn from the window to look at the agent, "but like I said, I'm not going to tell you anything about the so-called 'incident.'"

There was a strained silence in which Vera thought Agent Hill was trying to find something to say, but after hearing a nearly-inaudible, exasperated sigh from her, Vera knew Hill couldn't think of anything to say. Vera herself felt like sighing, but she was too determined to put on airs to sigh and show weakness. _If Hill won't tell me where I'm going,_ Vera thought adamantly, _then I don't have to tell her about my time at SHIELD_.

The two women remained silent for the rest of the journey.

* * *

"Hey, Rogers, wait up."

Steve stopped and turned as he watched Natasha stalk over to him. She looked angry, and she had every right to be – after the big fight they had trying to restore order in the museum, Natasha, Steve, and the rest of the SHIELD agents had only managed to capture one of the burglars, while the rest got away. The burglars, whoever they were, were skilled: they knew how to fight well and they escaped the building in unison effortlessly, like it was all planned down to the last second. But SHIELD took the one they arrested and planned to question him because they needed more answers about who these people were.

"You're going to the archive room, right?" asked Natasha quickly, and Steve nodded.

"Maria told me there might have been a breach down there," Steve elaborated, "so I'm checking it out."

"She told me the same thing."

Steve didn't respond to that, though there was something in Natasha's voice he couldn't help but pick up on. He shrugged it off and the two of them made their way downstairs to the archives.

"You seem to know you're way around here, Rogers," said Natasha with a hint of playful accusation as he led her down the maze-like hallways.

Steve was about to respond, "I've been here before," but something told him not to say that. So he just said nothing.

They got to the room, and, after noticing they needed a keycard to get in, Steve simply smashed the door's handle with his shield to get in. Once inside, they went straight to the nearest computer and Natasha sat down in front of it, immediately typing away. Privately, Steve was glad that Agent Hill had sent Natasha with him because he still wasn't very good with computers. Natasha, on the other hand, was an expert at them, and Steve had great reverence for her.

Natasha clicked around and typed some things, and then a dialog box popped up, saying, "FOLDER EMPTY – FILE ERASED."

"Huh," Natasha grunted in confusion, her eyes glued to the screen. "That's odd..."

"What's - ?"

"Hold on."

Natasha typed some more and brought up a big block of information and words and numbers. Steve could make neither heads nor tails of it, but Natasha nodded along as she read it, clearly understanding it. Steve was impressed.

"Natasha, what –?"

"There used to be a file here," she explained (which Steve was thankful for), "but it was erased. According to its access history, it was a timed file, meaning someone set it so that as soon as it was opened for the first time, it would only be open for a set number of seconds, and then it would be deleted forever."

"So someone did open it?" asked Steve, trying to piece it together. "And now it's gone forever?"

"Yep," she affirmed, glancing curiously at the computer screen. "All its data and memory was erased. There's no way we can access it now. The interesting thing is, I'm surprised this file hadn't been accessed until today."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, according to its history, this file was created several _decades_ ago."

Steve cocked his head in confusion. "It's decades old? And it wasn't even accessed until now?"

"That's right. Strange, isn't it?"

"Very strange..." Steve agreed slowly.

They were silent for a moment, each of them trying to work out this new information for themselves. Then after a few seconds, Natasha said without pretense, "I don't trust Vera Rochester."

Steve blinked. Natasha was known to be mysterious and surprising, but he certainly wasn't expecting _that_ to come from her. She didn't know that he was dating Vera, so Steve was surprised that Natasha even knew who Vera was. However, he didn't feel like revealing that secret part of his life yet so he decided to play innocent. "What...what do you mean?"

"That museum curator you rescued? I visited her earlier today posing as an FBI agent and talked with her. She was acting weird. She knows something about this, that's why I convinced Hill to bring her to the SHIELD base for questioning."

"You brought her in for questioning?" Steve asked before he could stop himself. Natasha nodded, eyeing Steve with suspicion.

"She's hiding something. Not only that, but don't you think it's strange that a group of masked men broke into her place of work the _same day_ that I paid her a visit?"

"That's odd, I guess," Steve admitted slowly. "But I doubt she's got something to do with this...she seems like an average museum curator."

Natasha looked at him. "You know her, don't you?" she said. It was more of a statement than a question, and Steve knew it would be futile to try to convince Natasha otherwise.

"I do know her," he revealed reluctantly. "And I don't think she's capable of pulling off something like this."

"You think you know her well enough to give her that much credit, Rogers?"

Steve swallowed. "I believe so."

"Oh, you sound so convincing," Natasha quipped sarcastically. "_I_ don't trust her. I'm not saying she's the mastermind behind this whole thing, but she's hiding something, I know it."

"I trust her," Steve argued, and Natasha scoffed.

"You trust her, or you _'believe'_ you trust her?"

"Natasha –"

"She's your girlfriend, isn't she?" she asked simply.

Steve was taken aback. "How...how did you –?"

"I know you've been secretly dating someone," she explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I just didn't know who. You're not so good at subtlety, you know, Rogers."

Steve didn't respond. He didn't want Natasha to be sure that he was dating Vera, but he didn't want to lie and deny it, either. Natasha sighed.

"Steve," she said in a softer tone, "just be careful, alright? My gut's telling me that she's lying about something, and my gut's never wrong."

Steve didn't respond to that either, but he couldn't deny internally that he knew Natasha was right. Though she didn't have super-human strength or a technologically-advanced suit she could fight crime with, one of her strongest suits was her intuition, which was hardly ever wrong. Natasha was smart and she could see people for who they really were. Steve trusted her judgment, but he just couldn't believe that Vera had something to do with this.

Although...Vera _was_ rather secretive about her past and she wasn't one to divulge personal information, other than what her favorite movies were or things to that effect. Could she be hiding something from him?

_I wouldn't put it past her to keep secrets,_ Steve thought morosely. _I've been doing the same thing to her._


	12. Don't Be That Way

**In the Still of the Night**

**Chapter Twelve: Don't Be That Way**

It wasn't long before Vera found herself in the place she thought she would never have to set foot in again. The SHIELD base they took her to was different than the one she had worked in in New York City: this one was smaller, but more state-of-the-art than the NYC one (although, Vera figured this could be because it had been a few years since she had been in a SHIELD base and technology had changed a bit since then). There were much fewer agents in this building, too, and Vera wondered why that was.

She followed Agent Hill down hallways, passing rooms of various sizes and purposes. One room, which Vera saw through the glass panels dividing the hall from the room, had a large, wall-sized screen with pictures and blocks of text flashing on it. There were rows and rows of desks with computers, most of them on and being used by several SHIELD agents. Another room they passed by was circular and had TV-sized screens all around the walls, with different people on each screen who were listening to a single person standing in the center of the room, addressing all of them.

The room that Agent Hill brought Vera to, however, had much less grandeur than the previous ones they had passed by. It was a simple interrogation room: the walls and floor were pale white, there was a silver table and two chairs in the room's center, and there was a two-way mirror on one of the walls. It looked like an interrogation room one would see in a cop show. Vera was surprised, given that she had never been in a SHIELD interrogation room before (that kind of thing didn't fall under her line of work) so she thought it would be more advanced and impressive than it actually was.

Agent Hill ushered Vera inside, and then went for the door. "Wait here," Hill told her, and without another word she exited the room, shutting the large, heavy door behind her.

Vera was still standing in the room after Hill left. She looked over at the two-way mirror curiously, trying futilely to look past her own reflection, but she saw nothing. She wondered if she was being watched at that exact moment. She probably was, but who was watching her? Hill? Natasha? A random SHIELD agent? Vera's head was starting to throb so she sat down in one of the stiff, cold chairs, rubbing her temples.

She waited. She waited and waited and waited and nothing happened for a long time. Vera deduced that the room was soundproof because she could hear nothing beyond her own breathing and occasional movements. There were no sounds she could hear from outside – no one walking by, talking, or making any kind of noise. Even though she was exhausted, she was still on edge because she had no idea what she was doing there and when she would be able to go home. _What if they keep me here?_ she thought dully, trying to fight through the pain of her headache. _What if they make me stay here and rejoin SHIELD? What if they forgot that I was in here and I just wait forever and ever and I grew old and died..._

Suddenly the heavy door opened. Vera looked up, and was shocked to see who walked into the room.

"Agent Coulson?" she asked incredulously at the man who gave her a warm smile.

"It's Director Coulson, actually," he corrected politely. "And I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've met."

"Oh," replied Vera awkwardly. "We haven't. I just know you from...well, in my old department we heard legends about some of the field agents, and you were one of them."

"I'm flattered," he replied earnestly, taking the seat across from Vera on the side of the table. It was then that Vera noticed he was carrying a clipboard and various tan files and papers with the SHIELD logo on them. He set them down gingerly on the table between them.

"What happened to Director Fury?" Vera asked, curious. "I haven't really been keeping myself updated on what goes on in SHIELD." _Mostly because I stopped caring_, she said to herself.

Coulson blinked. There was a sadness in his eyes. "He was killed last year."

Vera said nothing, and just looked down at her hands folded in front of her on the cold metal table. Although it was sad that he was killed, Vera never really liked Fury as a Director anyway; she had heard about some decisions he had made that were, in her opinion, rather questionable.

"A lot has changed since you left, Agent Rochester," said Coulson, and Vera gave a quiet scoff. The Director noticed this.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, it's just...I haven't been called 'Agent' in a long time," she admitted.

"I see," he responded in a manner that Vera couldn't quite place. "Agent Romanoff informed me that you're a former SHIELD agent."

"'Former' is right," Vera said, a little more sourly than she had intended.

"You worked in archives, right?"

Vera nodded. She had a feeling she was about to be drilled questions just like Agent Hill had in the car, and she wasn't looking forward to that.

"And for how long did you hold the position of archivist?"

"What, that's not in your file?" she asked accusingly. Vera didn't know exactly why she was being so defensive; but, she realized, she was in a place that reminded her of a bad time of her life, so of course she was on edge.

Coulson gave her a weak smile at that remark. "It is. I just want to make sure we're both on the same page."

Vera didn't know what he meant by that. Was he insinuating that he didn't trust her? Well, she couldn't really blame him. Her life had become shrouded in secrecy once she left SHIELD, so anyone just learning about her life story would naturally have some curious questions. She sighed.

"I worked there for about two years."

"Mm-hmm. And what was your reason for leaving?"

Vera hesitated. "I...I'm sorry, Director, but I'm just not comfortable talking about that."

"And why not?" he asked without hesitation. Vera stared at him for a second.

"Let's just say...I made some bad memories when I worked at SHIELD. Painful memories."

"We all have painful memories," he said sagely, and Vera looked down into her lap. "But I have your file here."

Vera's heart hammered as he pulled out one of the tan files with a stack of papers inside. He opened and read it.

"According to this file, you never quit. Your termination was never put in our records."

Vera did not react to this, making her remember the same lack-of-reaction she had exhibited when Agent Hill had told her the same information not too long ago.

"But thankfully, Agent Romanoff did some digging, and we found something that happened two years after you became a SHIELD agent. It was wiped from personnel records and kept off-the-books, but Natasha has a way of retrieving secret information."

Vera sat in silence, knowing what was coming. All those years of suppressing the memories and pretending like it never happened started to dissolve, and pain and sadness took its place.

"There was an...incident a few years ago," said Coulson. "Several field agents were killed in a training session gone wrong. Most of them were in their first or second year of training. It was kept off-book because SHIELD didn't want that fatal mistake to be made public, so they destroyed the reports and kept the families of those who were killed quiet."

He looked over at Vera carefully, making his tone softer. "You knew one of those agents who was killed. You left because you were angry at SHIELD for letting that incident happen, which resulted in that agent's death."

She neither confirmed nor denied this; she just stared at a spot on the wall to Coulson's right, trying to hold back tears.

"That agent you knew," continued Coulson, perusing the file in front of him. "You went to college with him, and the two of you joined SHIELD at the same time. Agent Joseph Hockett –"

"_Stop_," Vera burst out in a plea, her throat constricted, using all her energy to keep her tears from falling. She did not want to show weakness in front of the Director and whatever other SHIELD agents were watching her behind the mirror. "Please. Don't say anymore. I can't..."

Coulson nodded in understanding, although Vera couldn't tell exactly what he was thinking.

"Let's change the subject, then," he said in a different tone – one that Vera couldn't quite place. This man was rather enigmatic, she deduced. "How did you know about the hacked computer in the Smithsonian?"

Vera's heart dropped. So it _was_ connected to the break-in. But what did SHIELD have to do with it? How did they know she knew about it? Vera had so many questions...and yet, she didn't want to answer any of Coulson's. Maybe it was her bad mood, or her residual distrust of SHIELD after all these years, but something told her to play innocent. Something told her not to tell anyone else what she knew. So she lied.

"What computer?" she asked, hoping she was a good liar. _Hey,_ the back of her mind bitterly told her, _you keep secrets from everybody, you can't be that bad of a liar..._

"The computer in the archives of the museum," Coulson goaded. "You accessed a file that might have seemed odd to you?"

"Not that I know of," she replied smoothly. "Maybe you have me confused for someone else?"

Coulson leaned forward, placing his folded hands on the table. "No, I think we have just the right person. You used your keycard tonight and the file was accessed at roughly the same time. You think that was just a coincidence?"

"How do you know I accessed that file?" she asked adamantly. "What if someone broke in to the archives and accessed it? Just because I used my keycard doesn't mean it was me who accessed the file. Maybe it was just a coincidence."

"I'm sorry, but I don't believe in coincidences," he replied, starting to show a side of him beyond the politeness and manners. Vera wasn't afraid, though; as long as she kept denying it, no matter how bad of a liar she was, she knew they couldn't hold her responsible because they didn't have solid proof.

"Well, I do," she quipped back. "And I think you have the wrong person."

Coulson just looked at her for a few seconds. "You know, you're being rather difficult," he said without pretense. "I'm having a hard time believe you're one of the good guys."

"I'm just taking precautions, Director," she sighed, although she said it in a serious matter. Coulson nodded in understanding, but Vera knew he still doubted her. _I don't have to convince him I'm oblivious about this situation_, she told herself, _I just have to convince him that I didn't do anything wrong._

* * *

Unbeknownst to Vera, just outside the interrogation room, there _were_ people watching her. And those people happened to be Agent Romanoff and Steve.

They had been watching the entire interrogation since Coulson walked in the room. They were both listening to what Vera had to say in response to Coulson's questions; Steve, especially, was hanging on to every word she said. Until today, he had had _no _idea that Vera had worked for SHIELD and had something to do with the computer file. Granted, she had just found out her boyfriend was Captain America, but it was still a lot for Steve to take in. He just never pegged her as a...liar.

He and Natasha continued watching the interrogation. Not taking her eyes from the two-way mirror, Natasha said quietly, "She's not who she says she is. Surely you must see that, Steve."

Reluctantly, Steve nodded slowly. "She's kept things from me," he replied in seriousness. "But...that doesn't make her guilty."

"Come _on_, Steve," Natasha said angrily, turning to look at him, her arms folded. "You can't possibly trust her after everything you've just heard!"

"I do trust her, I know her better than anyone here –"

"And your judgment is clouded because you're attached to her!" Natasha spat back. "You trust her because you _want_ to trust her. If this was any other mission, and she was just some random person we apprehended, you wouldn't believe them for a second."

"But the fact that she _isn't_ some random person makes a difference!" Steve replied angrily.

"Maybe to you, but not to me. She's still a liar no matter how well one of us knows her."

Steve exhaled sharply, frustrated. He told himself that he could trust Vera, and Natasha didn't know what she was talking about because she didn't know Vera...

Although...it _was_ apparent that Vera was capable of lying...She had kept her past a secret from Steve for months, and that worried him. _If she was lying about this, then what else could she be lying about?_

He also trusted Natasha. He had known Natasha longer than he had known Vera...And he trusted Natasha's judgment. If she had her doubts about someone, then that person couldn't be trusted.

Steve was doubting. And he was doubting someone that he thought would never make him feel this unsure.

He looked into the two-way mirror and saw that Coulson stood up and left the room, leaving his files and papers behind. He exited through the metal door and approached Steve and Natasha.

"She's not cooperating," he said simply. "She's hiding something, but I don't know why. Maybe because she's protecting herself or someone else, but I'm not sure."

"Or she's just a liar..." Natasha mumbled under her breath, and Steve shot her a sideways glance.

"Captain," said Coulson, "you said you know her, yes? Why don't you try talking to her?"

"You want me to interrogate her?" asked Steve, and Coulson nodded.

"Right now she seems scared," said Coulson. "She's in an unfamiliar place, she's being asked questions by people whom she doesn't know...It might do her some good to talk to a familiar face."

Steve hesitated. He glanced over at Natasha, who gave a noncommittal tilt of the head. Steve sighed, turning the decision over in his mind. He didn't want to interrogate his own girlfriend...And yet, he really wanted answers from her and maybe he was the best person to get those answers...

"Alright," he eventually conceded, and walked over to the interrogation room door.

* * *

Inside the room, Vera was looking at the papers Coulson had left behind, tempted to leaf through them, when suddenly the door opened again. The person who walked through the door surprised her more than the previous one who had.

"Steve," she said, in a harsher voice than she was used to saying Steve's name. Even though privately she was glad to see him, Vera was undeniably angry with him, so she did not bother trying to hide the contempt in her voice. "Or should I say, Captain America."

Steve frowned and slowly walked over to the other chair, sitting across from her. "Now you know," he replied simply.

Vera leaned back in her chair, shaking her head in disbelief. "I had my suspicions about you, you know. Even after you told me you were 'related' to him. I just didn't want to vocalize the fact that I thought you actually _were_ Captain America for fear of being called crazy."

Steve nodded. "It's true."

"How?" she asked quietly, her brows furrowed in confusion. "How are you here right now if you fought in World War II?"

Steve sighed heavily; heavier than Vera had ever seen him sigh. "I was frozen in ice. My super-soldier genes kept me alive this long and they found me only last year. They, in essence, thawed me and revived me, and I've been working with SHIELD ever since."

Vera remained silent for a moment, taking all that in. "Your plane disappeared. The HYDRA plane you had been flying right before you were declared killed-in-action."

Steve nodded sadly. "I crashed it in the ice."

Vera became silent again, thinking. It was all so hard to believe, yet it made sense. It made a lot more sense than the half-crocked theories she had idly thought of when she saw Captain America last year on TV, fighting in the Battle of New York.

"Vera," Steve said slowly, and she looked up at him. "I know what I just told you is a lot to take in –" _That's an understatement_, she thought – "but I need you to help us out. SHIELD needs to know what your involvement is with that computer. If you could just tell me –"

"_That's_ why you're here? To interrogate me?" she asked incredulously, fuming.

Steve sighed sharply. "You're not cooperating. They needed someone –"

"–To loosen my tongue? Get me to squeal?"

"Vera –"

"Jesus, and just when I thought SHIELD could sink no lower," she muttered coldly. "Here I thought you came in here to apologize, but I was wrong. You're just following SHIELD's agenda."

"Apologize for what?" Steve shot back angrily. "Saving you back there?"

"For lying to me! You're _Captain-freaking-America!_ You couldn't have told me that, I don't know, _months_ ago?"

"Don't act like you're completely innocent, you lied to me too, Vera! You kept your past from me, you used to work at SHIELD!" He shouted, pointing down at the files on the table.

"So do you! And I don't remember you ever telling _me_ you work for SHIELD! If I had known you worked for _them_..."

"Don't turn this around on me and blame me for everything. You've done nothing but keep secrets and tell lies, and I don't even know why!"

"I'm sure you'll think of a reason," she replied coldly. "You _are_ Captain America, after all."

Steve blinked hard, clearly angry, and stood up. He was about to leave but he stopped himself.

"Just tell me one thing," he said carefully. "Do you have anything to do with that hacked computer?"

Vera sighed, but said nothing. She just looked up at him, her eyes a little softer than they had been a few seconds ago when she had been yelling at him.

Steve's brows furrowed at her lack of response. "Why can't you just tell SHIELD what you know?"

"I can't," she replied earnestly, shaking her head. Steve looked skeptical, and she pleaded, "Steve, just _trust_ me, okay?"

Steve turned away from her. He put his hand on the door handle. "I don't know who to trust."

He turned the handle and left Vera in the interrogation room, shocked and hurt and alone.

Coulson and Natasha were waiting outside the room, and they approached Steve, who looked over at them tiredly.

"I don't think we'll make any more progress with her," Coulson admitted, and Steve nodded somberly. "Since we have no solid evidence that she's been directly involved in any foul play, we have to let her go."

Steve nodded again, too hurt and too tired to even speak.

Coulson then went back into the interrogation room and informed Vera she was free to go. He gathered up the papers from the table and ushered her out into the hallway. They passed by Steve, who was standing outside the door with his arms crossed. Vera said nothing to him; she didn't even cast a glance in his direction.

_He lied to me..._she thought as Coulson led her away. _He doesn't trust me...How can I trust him?_

As she lay in bed that night, back in her own house hours later, one sentence kept bouncing around in her head, making it impossible for her to sleep:

_I don't know who to trust...I don't know who to trust...I don't know who to trust..._

* * *

**A/N: Ooooh, lotsa stuff going on here! More of Vera's past has been revealed, gasp! And she and Steve had their first fight, gasp again! Things look pretty bleak right now, right? Well, just you wait and see what happens down the road...**

**As always, please favorite/follow/review. :)**

**-PenPaperParadise**


	13. There'll Always Be an England

In the Still of the Night

**A/N: Hey guys. I know it's been a while since I updated, but I'm a busy person! My birthday was last week and I'm getting ready to go back to school at the end of September (quarter system, yay), so I haven't really had time to write. But here's this chapter and I hope you guys like it!**

**This chapter took a bit of time to write, too, because I had to do a good amount of research on it. I wanted it to be accurate, so I researched information like what the region the characters are in is like, what the room looks like based on the set design in the movie, etc. Hopefully that attention to detail makes the story a bit better.**

**Lastly, I cannot thank all my readers enough for the support this story has gotten thus far. I have over 7000 views! That's WAY more than I was expecting from this story, and I'm not even halfway through it. So thank you all so much!**

**Read, review, favorite, follow – do all that stuff to make me happy! Also, don't forget to visit my profile page from time to time as I put updates and things related to this story (and my other stories) on there. :)**

**-PenPaperParadise**

Chapter Thirteen: There'll Always Be an England

_One week later._

London was different from what he had pictured. A lot different. For some reason, he had this hazy vision of London as this pretty, bustling town that was bright and full of old buildings and interesting people. But when the Winter Soldier visited it for the first time (in present memory), he found it was quite different from his imaginings: the city was full of honking cars and it was smoggy and gray. The people were bustling, but all of them looked like they were in a hurry and most of them were talking animatedly on cell phones. The buildings were tall and sleek, not old and charming like he had somehow remembered.

The Winter Soldier had never been to London...had he? He wasn't sure. For all he knew, he could have _lived_ there but he would have no memory of that. A few things were coming back to him, slowly but surely, but most of the flashes of memories that came upon him were difficult to make sense of. They were usually just images of people or places or objects that appeared in his mind's eye for a second and then disappeared as quickly as they came on. He found it all very confusing – and therefore frustrating. He had to keep a lid on his rage these days, otherwise he would snap. And being in the bustling city wasn't helping.

When he arrived in Winchester, however, he found that the town was closer to what he had pictured England to be. It felt more quaint and old-world; many of its buildings were stone and there was an arched stone bridge he had walked across. He had passed by a grand cathedral where, even at dusk, many tourists were milling about and snapping pictures. The soldier had almost stopped and admired the cathedral, but his mind barked at him to complete his mission. London will always be a city, changing and growing and adapting to a new world, but the Soldier had to appreciate the towns like this one that kept a hold on their past values and traditions.

It didn't take him long to find the Merryweather Rest Home that was just outside the main hub of the city. By the time he arrived at the convalescent home, it was just past dusk, so he decided to wait a few hours until everyone inside was most certainly asleep.

It was the middle of the night when he broke into her room.

He had peeked into her window from outside to make sure she was asleep. Her room, thankfully on the first floor, was dark and he saw a person lying in the bed that was against the wall adjacent to the window, which confirmed that she was blissfully unaware of what was about to happen. The soldier quietly snapped the window latch with his metal arm, breaking it and allowing him to push open the window as quietly as he could. Tapping into the stealth techniques he had learned while he was the Winter Soldier, he silently and efficiently climbed in through the window, pushed past the green patterned curtains, and landed soundlessly on the carpet.

He looked at the person sleeping in the bed. She was very old; he knew this because of the intel he had done on her, of course, but he saw it in her physical appearance. She had silver, curly hair that rested just past her shoulders and framed her lined face. She had wrinkles most prominently around her mouth and her eyes, which were currently closed lightly because she was sleeping comfortably. She looked peaceful, and for a fraction of a second the Winter Soldier considered just letting her sleep and abandoning his plan...but he thought better of it.

However, he wouldn't wake her just yet. He looked around the small convalescent room which had a few pieces of furniture, including two small nightstands on either side of the white bed, a small brown table with a white tea tray resting on it, and a plain brown armoire. He passed by the tea table because all that held was the tea set, a small yellow vase, and an empty glass. He went to her armoire, which was on the opposite side from the window, and examined the picture that was taped onto it. It was a crude drawing of an apple tree on a little hill; so crude, that it looked to be drawn by a child. The soldier found that curious. Was it drawn by her child? No; according to her file, they would be all grown up by now...A grandchild maybe?

The soldier disregarded the picture and opened the armoire soundlessly. Its only contents were clothes, shoes, and a jewelry box that, after he looked through it, held nothing of real value to him. He closed the armoire doors and went over to the nightstand to the left of her bed. It was rather messy, with a white flower-patterned lamp taking up most of the room. Next to it was a pink tissue box and a small, round jewelry box. He opened it, and inside it was empty. Nothing on that nightstand was helpful to him so he crept over to the other side of the bed to look on that nightstand.

The other nightstand was even messier, if that were possible. A pair of glasses, a ball of brown yarn, and a glass of half-drunk milk were among its boring contents, but something that caught his eye was the photos propped up on top of various papers and notebooks. One photo was of a woman and two children, a girl and a boy. The soldier remembered from the information he found on her that she had two children, so was this her in the photo? That could very well be a possibility because the photograph was black and white and she looked young. The other photo was of the same woman but with a different girl. This girl probably wasn't her daughter; she was different from the other young girl in the first picture. A niece, perhaps?

The soldier looked away from the photos and glanced at the woman. She was still asleep, but he felt like he was running out of time: the longer he stayed, the greater chance of her waking up or someone walking in and seeing him. He carefully picked up some of the papers on the nightstand and looked at them. One was a colorful calendar of events for the rest home for that month; one was a hand-written paper with names and phone numbers written in a neat list; one was a statement from a life insurance company...There was hardly anything here.

Then, beneath the last stack of papers, he found a folder. It was a plain manila folder that, when he turned it over, he noticed had a single black and white photograph paper-clipped to the outside. The photograph was of a scrawny young man in a white t-shirt and dog tags. _Was he a soldier?_ the soldier wondered when he saw the tags. He was blond...and looked vaguely familiar...

It wasn't until he opened the file when the soldier finally recognized who he was. It was _him. His target. _The one he had been trying to learn about for months. Inside the folder was a series of papers, the first one was a profile sheet with the name "ROGERS, STEVEN GRANT" written on the top line. The soldier's heart began to race. This was what he needed; he knew this Rogers person had something to do with his past. Several months ago, when he had fought Rogers, the man had told him that the two of them used to be friends. But the soldier didn't _remember_ that; surely he would remember that if it was true?

The file also contained a few papers and artifacts that he couldn't figure out why they were in there, including a small round picture of a woman – the old woman, though much younger and prettier – and a sketch drawing of a monkey on a unicycle. There were also a few small rectangular cards that nearly fell out of the file that had colorful images of the so-called Captain America on them. Bucky found these things familiar...They were called...trading cards. Yes, that's it. But why were they in this file? Sure, he knew Steve Rogers was Captain America, but why were there trading cards in this file of information on him? Were they important?

Suddenly he heard the sound of sheets rustling and when he spun around he saw that the woman was now awake, blinking in the darkness and staring right at him. There was a moment of stunned silence where the soldier waited for her to move and the woman stared at him, probably trying to figure out who he was and why he was there.

"Who...who are you?" she asked in a frail voice, confirming the soldier's suspicions.

He said nothing. Did he even have an honest answer to give to that question?

"Wh-what do you want?"

"You are Margaret 'Peggy' Carter, are you not?" he asked sharply, mechanically. The woman nodded slowly.

"What do you want?" asked Peggy, this time her voice a little stronger.

The soldier looked at her with cold eyes. "Answers."

As Peggy looked back at him, her brown eyes wide and fearful, he couldn't help but remember those brown eyes looking right at him before. _But that's impossible_, he told himself, _I've never met her before...Right?_

But what she said next made him doubt himself even more, if that were possible.

"B...Bucky?"

The soldier froze. That was...that was the same name that his target had given him...that Captain America had given him...when he said they were friends...

"How do you know that name?" he questioned sharply, taking two steps toward the old woman.

Peggy did not recoil when he came near her. "I knew a man named Bucky once...He was part of Steve's unit."

"Steve...Rogers?" asked the soldier, and the old woman nodded.

"They were best friends."

"Were?"

Peggy stared up at him, her eyes softening. "He died. Many years ago. That's why..." she squinted at him in the darkness, perhaps trying to get a better, clearer look at his face. "That's why it's impossible that you're here."

The soldier said nothing. He couldn't give an answer to that; even _he_ didn't know how he was here. His past was so hazy that he couldn't even remember who he was or where he came from.

"You're looking for him, aren't you?" continued the old woman. "Steve has visited before...He said he knew you were alive...He said..."

Her gaze was unreadable, but there was a sadness behind her eyes that the soldier didn't miss.

"You don't remember who you are, do you?"

It was more of a statement than a question because there was a mark of sureness in her voice. He saw no reason to lie to her, so he was honest.

"No. But you remember who I am. How?"

A faint smile came to her lips. "You're not a man I could easily forget."

He took in the gravity of that statement – she knew him, she remembered him, she _couldn't forget him_ – then why could he not even remember his own _name?_

"How do you know Steve Rogers?" he asked sharply, feeling a frustrating rage rise up inside him but he tried to keep a lid on it.

The sadness returned to Peggy's eyes. "He was my...I knew him from our work in the military," she settled on saying. "You don't remember?"

"No," he replied fiercely. "I don't remember. I don't remember him, or you, or..." He could feel the frustration and fear threaten to spill over but he tried to calm himself down. He didn't want to lose control – for her sake, not his. He couldn't explain why, but something was telling him not to hurt this woman. Sure, she was elderly and probably close to death anyway, but he felt some sort of connection with her. Something he had never felt before...or had he? It was a familiar feeling...was it...friendship?

"What was Steve to you?" he asked. Peggy looked back at him with a confused, blank stare, so he elaborated, "Just now you said, 'He was my...' but then you stopped. He was your what?"

Peggy cast her eyes downward, the lines and wrinkles on her face becoming more obvious. "He was...Steve was my..."

Just then, something came to Peggy's eyes – or did something leave her eyes? She had a blank stare for a few seconds, as if she were remembering something, and then her eyes turned back to the soldier.

"Who...who are you?" she asked, suddenly scared. "What are you doing here?"

He was taken aback for a second – but then he remembered reading about her medical history when he was collecting intel and how she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's not too long ago. The disease, he recalled, altered people's memories and made them forget things. _Wonder what's that like,_ he mused sarcastically.

"What do you want?" Peggy asked, her gaze fearfully fixed on his metal arm.

"I..." He hesitated – why did he have the desire to say it? What if it wasn't true? But he said it nonetheless– "I...I'm Bucky."

Peggy's eyes widened in shock, but then they softened in recognition.

"Bucky..." she whispered. "That name...I haven't heard...A soldier...So long..."

He turned away from the rambling old woman. He realized he wasn't going to get any more information out of her. However, he pocketed the file she had on Steve, thinking that there could be something useful in there if he read it carefully. He went back over to the window and just as he was about to climb out, he heard the woman speak once more.

"I knew a man named Bucky once."

He turned back to look at her, and she was looking straight at him – not as a helpless old woman with an addled mind, but as a woman with sheer determination and sureness etched on her lined face. The soldier very nearly sighed as he climbed out the window.

"I did, too."


End file.
